


SUNDOWN

by Sassywarlock29



Category: Timothée Chalamet - Fandom, saoirse ronan - Fandom
Genre: F/M, King - Freeform, Saoirse, Saoirse Ronan - Freeform, Sexual Tension, Smut, Timothee Chalamet - Freeform, fuff, medieval romance, slow building relationship, timothee - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 37,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassywarlock29/pseuds/Sassywarlock29
Summary: << this fic is also available on wattpad under the same title by high-on-chalamet, go drop me a follow, if you like what I write :)>> this is a fanfiction of timothèe chalamet and saoirse ronan because i can't help but ship them no matter what :)this forbidden romance is set in the medieval times where timothee is the crowned prince of Elmcaster Isles and saoirse is a commoner.elmcaster isles are prosperous lands and the whole world has an eye for them, will timothee be able to keep up its pride? how much will he have to fight for what is his? will saoirse be able to play her part and save the love of her life?and most importantly,will they ever be together?
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Saoirse Ronan
Kudos: 15





	1. prologue

“the fort has been captured, your majesty. would you like a record of casualties and other wins and losses right now?” hawklin, the prime minister to king marc of elmcaster isles spoke in his usual calm voice. 

“not right now, but i do wish to see the defeated man.” the king stated as he took another sip of red wine from his half-empty glass. 

“at your command, your highness.” hawklin left the king’s chamber, after nodding curtly. 

king marc looked toward his queen, nicole, who was presently cradling their sleeping son in her arms while their daughter, pauline, a bright girl of 3, sat examining a bowl of grapes in her hands. 

“timothee is going to be just as brave as you someday.” the queen said, smiling down at the beautiful baby in her arms. 

“he is going to be even braver, my beloved.” 

“bwave!” pauline exclaimed in delight, having learnt a new word. 

king marc picked her up in his strong arms and seated her on his lap. 

“yes, my moonlit angel, very brave. both of you will be so brave.” 

pauline just chuckled in her father’s lap, stroking the lapels of the long fur cape he wore. 

“i see she’s got an eye for good fashion.” the queen stated, smiling and before the king could respond, hawklin’s voice was heard from outside the chamber. 

“your grace, i’m here with the fallen king, may we enter?” 

“pauline, go to your mother and try to sleep.” king marc whispered to his daughter who obediently got off his lap and scurried away to her mother who was in the back of the magnanimous room. 

“you may.” the king said, standing up and assuming an authoritative tone. 

hawklin came in, followed by a man, not much older than the king himself, in shackles, blood smeared all over his emotionless countenance, two royal guards at his flanks. 

“you could’ve saved all the bloodshed elliot, if you had peacefully returned our soldiers when they were asked for.” king marc remarked. 

“i couldn’t have surrendered, not like that.” the man in shackles spoke and his voice shook with strain. 

“oh but you have now.” 

“at least i fought for it.” elliot spat. 

“and lost. very well, any last wishes? i don’t want your foul heart beating for long.” 

“give refuge to my family in good faith or release them. my queen is pregnant.” elliot said and marc saw his eyes softening slightly. 

“i give you my word, they’ll be taken good care of, at all times. they will be as much a part of this castle as any of its other inhabitants. hawklin, take him away now and let the hangman make the preparations.” the king commanded and turned away from his men. 

“may the king to-be a kinder man!” the fallen ruler yelled while being escorted out. 

“shut up!” marc heard hawklin shriek and then somebody being smacked. 

marc closed his eyes and opened them to look at the cieling above him, covered in motifs. 

“my queen, raise the prince to be a kind yet rational man. that is important.” 

“i will your majesty.” the queen spoke and raised the baby’s forehead to her lips.


	2. the world we live in

The sun was setting outside Saoirse's window in the castle as she sat by it, looking at the saffron ball of light that painted the whole sky in mesmerising riots of red, blue and something more, alerting the universe of its departure.  
She had an almost knitted pair of mittens lying in her lap, forgotten for a while.  
"Saoirse?" She heard her mother call from the hallways outside her little room, making her way toward her daughter.  
She hastily put the mittens aside in the huge metal box her esteemed friend and princess, Pauline Chalamet, had gifted to her for good service, sometime last year.  
It now housed all of Saoirse's knitting and sewing projects. It had become a hobby and she was fairly good at it but sometimes it got too much and she sat doing the needle work for hours at an end.  
"What? Again? You should transfer yourself to the Royal Taylors instead of being the princess' maid!" Her mother scolded when she came in before Saoirse has put the mittens away.  
"I'm sorry but I'd rather be with the princess than anywhere else in the world." Saoirse said, looking defiantly into the sapphire eyes of her mother.  
"You don't get to talk back to me, young woman. The princess has sent a word for you, go up to her before they can throw was out of this castle." She spat and ushered Saoirse out of her room.  
The young girl scurried away, going up the stairs to the main castle floor and running past royal guards and through countless hallways, she finally reached the princess' room.  
"Your highness?" She called from behind to thick maroon velvet curtains that separated the world from the princess' room.  
"Saoirse? Come in!" She heard the royalty call from inside and setting aside the heavy curtains, Saoirse stepped in but not before putting the curtains back in place.  
"Your high-" She began turning around but stopped when she saw that Pauline wasn't alone in her room but her brother Timothèe sat on her bed, concentrating on a book.  
"Good evening, prince and princess." Saoirse said, looking down on the floor, her cheeks quick to pick up heat. She did not want to be, but whenever the crowned prince was around, she got flustered. Maybe it was his handsomeness, which was the topic of conversation for infinite princesses and maidens far and wide, or his intimidating aura, she didn't know.  
"Cut the formalities, there is work to be done!" Pauline said getting up from her dresser and walking over to Saoirse.  
"Tomorrow, the guests start arriving for Timothée's coronation due next week and.." Pauline trailed off, biting her lower lip and looking down, failing miserably in her attempt to stop blushing.  
"And?" Saoirse enquired.  
" And the Prince of Brookwood would be there! He will never lay his eyes on me, Sersh!" Pauline exclaimed, going from excited to sad in a whim.  
"That would be true if you weren't the sister of the crowned prince." Saoirse reasoned. She looked over at Timothèe to find him shaking his head and smiling.  
"Are you saying I'm not beautiful enough to be noticed by him were I not his sister?" Pauline's eyes had gone wide and her hands had found Saoirse's arms.  
"Pauline, you know the Prince has time and again given you more attention than any other maiden. He's always the first to ask you to dance in balls and he always walks you to wherever it is that you're going. I don't think there's any reason for you to be worried." Saoirse comforted her best friend and mistress.  
"Also, Saoirse does an amazing job of transforming your horse face into something tolerable." Timothèe remarked, still not looking up from his book but the compliment was enough to make the butterflies in her stomach sing love songs.  
"Thankyou, your grace." Saoirse muttered, just loud enough for the Prince to barely hear it.  
"You are both awful!" Pauline huffed as she went back to her dresser with the huge decorated mirror that Saoirse cleaned more times a day than anything else in the castle.  
Pauline never realised how beautiful she was. She had such a pretty long, brown hair that ended just an inch above her waist and eyes a shining Emerald, exactly like her brother's. She also had such defined lips and bone structure, that it was hard to look away for any man if he so much as glanced at her. In addition to all of this, she had such kindness and warmth, despite being the only princess of such powerful lands as the Elmcaster Isles.  
Timothèe has now put his book aside and walked over to stand behind his elder sister and brushed the top of her head with a gentle hand.  
"I know he would, but if in any case he does not treat you like you deserve to be treated and ends up hurting you, my sword would love to disfigure his pretty face."  
"You will not do any such thing!" Pauline warned.  
"As if I will ever listen to you." Timothèe said and tapped his sister lightly on the head.  
He then turned to Saoirse and their eyes locked for a brief moment before she looked down, heat pooling in her stomach and spreading to ever part of her body.  
"Stay with the princess tonight Saoirse. I know she won't be able to sleep on her own and get herself sick." Timothèe spoke, his voice not as authoritative as it usually is when he is giving orders.  
"As you wish, your Grace." Saoirse replied and the crowned prince left his sister's side and passed by Saoirse on his way out.  
"He will like me, won't he?" Pauline asked, a sad look ghosting her face.  
"If he doesn't, I will rather believe he is blind or stone hearted or both, Pauline." Saoirse reassured.  
The princess smiled and shook her head.  
"You have a thing for Timmy, don't you?"  
Saoirse jerked up at the question, feeling her heart pick up pace again as she looked at the royalty with wide eyes.  
"I... I don't quite get you, your highness." Saoirse stuttered.  
"Oh cut it! You know exactly what I'm talking about! Since when?" Pauline chirped like a thirteen year old girl and Saoirse turned away from her.  
"I don't want to talk about this. It's no good. He is the crowned prince and I'm just a serving girl, my silly feelings don't count." Saoirse said more sternly than she meant to, feeling the back of her eyes sting at having to speak out the harsh truth.  
Pauline came and quietly hugged her from behind.  
"Sometimes Sersh... I hate the world we live and love in."


	3. arena

Saoirse was rushing from corridor to corridor in search of Pauline. The guests were to arrive that day and the Princess needed to be ready, if only she could be found.  
She bumped into another house servant passing by, who was carrying a tray full of silver utensils, knocking it over.  
"Watch it, wench!" He huffed out in annoyance, quickly bending down to retrieve everything.  
"Have you seen the princess anywhere? It is quite urgent." She enquired, slightly out of breath from all the running around.  
"In the arena." He said and Saoirse darted off toward the arena, one of her favourite places in the castle, where all the royal men trained themselves in the art of warfare. Pauline sometimes liked to go and watch the training sessions and mostly she took Saoirse with her.  
When the girl reached the large, intimidating arena, the air heavy with the smell of sweat and blood, she found Pauline sitting on one of the front seats in the spectators' area. She approached the princess to find her nervously fiddling with the sapphire ring on her index finger.  
"Pauline?" Saoirse tried.  
The princess, with a start, turned to look at Saoirse, relieved to find it was only her.  
"Sit with me." Pauline spoke, her eyes trained on the the fencing ground.  
"You know I can't. The seat next to you is for another royalty. Serving maids just stand close by." The spectator areas for royal ladies were built at a height, each area consisting of two throne like seats for the ladies and plenty of space in the bank for their maids.  
"You and your damnable protocol. There is not another soul here apart from us, Timmy and his training companions, who couldn't care less who was up here." Pauline replied.  
"The Prince is here?"  
"Oh, you of all people should notice him right away in a room." Pauline teased and Saoirse couldn't help the scarlet that covered her cheeks and ears. She looked toward the fencing field and sure enough he was there. Saoirse's blush deepened and her breath was caught in her throat when she saw Timothèe, naked on his upper half, expertly swinging his sword he called 'Edge', the muscles of his sculpted, pale back flexing as he easily disarmed the three others training with him. He put Edge back in her sheath as a servant took it from him, placing it by his clothes and another offered him water.  
He ran a hand through his lush, brown curls in an attempt to get some air into his sweaty scalp and another servant came by with a towel, wiping the perspiration off of his back, shoulders, arms and front.  
"Saoirse? Saoirse?" She heard Pauline call and with a jump, she apologised for not paying attention.  
"You came here for something? If you're done ogling at my dearest brother that is." Pauline teased again and Saoirse hated herself for being so obvious about her desires.  
"In case you've forgotten, the guests start arriving today and I need to get you ready."   
"Oh my God why didn't you come find me earlier? I would hate to not be the first royal who receives the Prince of Brookwood!" Pauline panicked as she got up, took Saoirse by the arm and rushed out the spectator area and down the stairs. They passed corridor after corridor, still nowhere near her chamber. It was time like these when she hated living in a huge castle and would rather prefer a cottage in the woods.  
"Pauline, you need to slow down before you trip and fall. Surely the prince wouldn't like a limping princess. Besides, it is just a little after dawn and the guests from Brookwood arrive by twilight." Saoirse reasoned with her, knowing how logic cancelled out the princess's panic.  
"You are right. You are always right. You know sometimes it's hard to believe that you're not a royal." Pauline spoke, her former pace slowed down to a walk.  
"And why is that so?" Saoirse asked.  
"You're too bright and charismatic to not be one."


	4. silly girl

Saoirse rubbed jasmine scented fragrance on Pauline's pale, smooth skin as the princess sat in front of the mirror, inspecting herself every second.  
"which gown are you going to put me in?" she asked.  
"the pastel pink, the one I made for you and you liked so well. is that okay?"  
"mhmm." Pauline just hummed as Saoirse's hands continued to rub the princess's almost naked self.  
soon enough, she had Pauline wear the gown and as she fixed the hem of her gown which had been slightly upturned in the process of wearing it, she felt the royalty fidget. looking up, she found her nervously muttering something unintelligible under her breath.  
"Pauline!" Saoirse said sternly.  
"what?"  
"I have been trying to fix the hem for a while now and if you do not stop fidgeting, we will be doing this till the break of dawn tomorrow and then you might as well give up the idea of receiving your prince. why are you so bothered because of how a man will think of you?" Saoirse tried to reason with her.  
"he is not just a man. he is the prince-"  
"And you are the princess of Elmcaster isles. why should anybody else's identity lessen yours?"  
"sorry. you're right. I must stop fretting." Pauline said, finally gaining back a bit of esteem.  
for the next few hours, with the help of other maids, Saoirse did Pauline's hair and powdered her face. when they were done, Pauline asked the maids to leave but Saoirse to remain.  
"be honest." Pauline said standing up, smoothing down the gown.  
"stop touching yourself and you should be fine. you look stunning" Saoirse said smiling.  
the curtains to the chamber slid open and in came the queen and bowing to her, Saoirse made to leave.  
"you can wait, I have a few errands you can run." the queen spoke, not looking at Saoirse but admiring her daughter from head to toe, looking for flaws she could amend, but found none.  
"you look lovely, I'm glad you dressed yourself well. I hope you're aware the Brookwood lad would be here?"  
"I am."  
"and I also hope you realise that after Timothee's coronation ceremony as the crowned prince, we would be talking to the king and queen of the lands for your hand in marriage to the prince?"  
Pauline blushed at that and looked down.  
"yes."  
"good, Saoirse arrange for the prince and princess to spend some quality time in the castle and beyond during his stay here. Also, I was in Timmy's quarters before this, why isn't the hearth lit and the bed and cushions bare? make sure his room is made before he gets there."  
"I am sorry, my liege. I will get everything in place in no time." Saoirse said, her eyes trained on the floor.  
"she is not even responsible for Timmy's portion of the castle. where is his own steward?" Pauline inquired.  
the queen only let out a sigh and sat on Pauline's bed.  
"we can talk about the whereabouts of the castle staff later my little girl, I am afraid we have more serious things to talk about as of now. I need to tell you why is it that Brookwood is important to us and how important it is for you to woo the Prince. Saoirse you can leave now." the queen spoke in a tired tone of voice and feeling a pang of some unpleasant emotion in her chest, she left the room to go to her own quarters to fetch the bedsheets and covers she had sewn and embroidered some time ago for Timothee's solar.  
it was a thing with her, whenever she was too overwhelmed by her infatuation for the prince, she sat down to sew and whatever it was that she made while she calmed herself down, she named it his.  
he had no idea how many embroidered handkerchiefs, dagger covers, cloaks, bedsheets and cushion wraps she had made him, staying up nights some times. she reached her room, and grabbing whatever she had to from the metal box, headed out to the princely solar.  
she was stopped by a guard as she made to enter and even upon telling him she had instructions from the queen to make his bed and light his braziers, he didn't let her in.  
"the prince is in there and he demanded no disturbance."  
"he has never minded my presence all these years even when he was engaged in important business with his ministers inside."  
"he went in with a woman, silly girl. come back later." the guard stated brusquely.  
"oh, well, take these and ask a maid to make his room whenever it is... not occupied." she said, and handing the guard the garments and with a heavier heart, walked away, desperately trying to think of all the arrangements she had to make for Pauline in an attempt to ignore the dizziness she was feeling in both her heart and head.


	5. royal arrivals

Saoirse didn't stop running till she had reached the steps of the arena and through the back entrance meant for the castle staff, she entered, taking care not to make any sound or worse, falling.  
she checked the ground stealthily to see if she made it in time to see the war master training the young princes, knights and their squires in the arena. thankfully she hadn't missed them and the party stood there, their swords clashing in a song, getting disarmed one moment and smartly re-arming themselves the next.  
Saoirse had always been fascinated when she saw men swinging swords, hammers, spears- weapons. warfare was an area of her interest and she seldom came to the arena during the times the master taught his students so as to learn a thing or two and practice it in the privacy of her chamber, since women were looked down upon if they so much as even held a weapon in their hand, let alone fight ferociously.  
Pauline had found out about her escapades to the arena a while ago and had gifted her a beautiful steel to practice with in private on her name day. it was things like these, paying attention to Saoirse's interests and little needs and granting them even if Saoirse never asked for them to be granted that made the young maiden respect her mistress even more.  
today the master was telling the lads about the correct way to throw a knife and what to do when attacked with one. she carefully watched the proceedings of the field from behind the curtain in the ladies' box, listening to every word the master said, paying attention to how he corrected the postures of the boys and what mistakes they made so she could learn from them.  
this was a good distraction for her from the overwhelming heartache that the prince's sleeping with a woman had caused. she knew there was no chance he would ever fancy her at all but she was after all, a girl and girls had hearts made of glass, which took less than a second to break into a million shards, but what most people forgot was- that shards of glass prick and draw out blood too when messed with.  
she observed the training session till she heard trumpets being played and the royal band marching to drum beats and hurried out of the arena and to the quarters of Pauline.  
upon entering, she found her friend surrounded by half a dozen maids, quickly fixing any last minute things on her and reapplying jasmine's scent on her skin.  
"Saoirse! I swear I will forbid your entry here if you abandon me one more time! where were you?" the princess almost shrieked.  
"i'm really sorry your highness, I was engaged. your mother did tell me a few chores to do earlier." Saoirse replied, feeling guilty about not paying mind to the time.  
"forget about that, he's here! escort me to the Ball room, will you?"  
Pauline waved the other maids away and curled her arm around Saoirse's as the two of them made it out of her chamber, the others following. the princess letting go of her after some time as they approached the ball room where the guests were supposed to be.  
"are you sure I will be able to dance well in this gown?" Pauline asked as Saoirse lead her up the steps.  
"you will be surprised, I will be back in a moment after informing them of your arrival so they can announce it."  
Saoirse quickly ran up to the elderly knight in charge of making announcements of the arrival of the royalties and guests as they came in. after getting the necessary done, she escorted Pauline in, as the knight, with his loud voice, introduced her to the gathering.  
as she walked up the carpet leading to the King's throne, Saoirse and the other following behind, eyes turned toward the princess appreciatively. Saoirse heard whisperings about how beautiful Pauline was and how well she looked that night.  
the princess walked up to her father, who kissed her knuckles in greeting as she bowed courteously. they exchanged a word or two before Pauline went ahead to greet others in the room- friends and relatives and sometimes complete strangers, but her eyes searched for that one man who had been the protagonist of her dreams ever since she had first met him.  
"ladies and gentlemen, lords and ladies, please welcome among us, the royal family of Brookwood and esteemed friends to the King." the elderly knight announced and Pauline turned around so fast she almost tripped. her heart was beating out of her chest as the mere announcement of his arrival brought a crimson riot on her cheeks.  
she watched attentively as the tall, handsome prince, following his parents, greeted the King and the Queen before taking their respective seats near the royalty and easily falling into conversation.  
her eyes caught the Queen's who motioned for her to come to their party and Pauline, gladly but nervously did. she slowly made her way to the throne area, putting in as much grace in her steps as possible.  
"good evening my lords and ladies." she greeted them as she reached close, bowing in courtesy. she watched the prince, with his enchanting sapphire eyes, get up and bow back, striding forward to take her hand and kiss her knuckles in greeting, smiling all the while.  
she thought she had imagined it but she knew, his lips lingered a little bit longer on her skin than they needed to. her blush deepened but she tried not to let her flustered condition hamper her composed air.  
the Queen of Brookwood then invited her to sit with them to which she more than gladly complied and took the only nearest empty seat, beside the prince.


	6. raining steel

"and now allow me to announce the arrival of the sun and stars of the kingdom, the young man who shall lead us someday and just as well as his father has, for whom we have all assembled here, the to be crowned prince of the realm, Prince Timothee Chalamet!"  
the knight announced as the great doors to the ballroom swung open and in walked Timothee, a velvet red cloak lined with fur adorning his handsome self, his sword intact by his side. his loose brown curls swept back for the occasion.  
he took slow, intimidating strides as a small band of soldiers ceremoniously marched at his sides to the sound of trumpets and drumbeats and his kings guard followed him.  
to Saoirse, he looked no less than a lion that walked his territory, afraid of no one and scared of nothing- not even fate. Timothee's jaw was set in a hard line, making his razor sharp face look more defined.  
in the hall, everyone rose to their seats, bowing respectfully to the prince as he made his way to his royal parents, sitting atop the throne at the head of the hall, with other lieges from kingdoms all around seated in close proximity around them on their assigned seats.  
he bowed back curtly as he reached the front and then proceeded to personally greet the guests.  
when he reached the Prince of Brookwood and his sister, he let a little smile slip as he embraced the prince in a brotherly hug.  
"I hope you like it here at Elmcaster. someone has been especially attentive to your needs and comforts." Timothee spoke, winking at his sister in an attempt to tease her.  
"oh I already love every bit of it." the prince replied back, smiling a little wider.  
"the other guests await your greetings, go now." Pauline said, blushing furiously.  
"hurrying me out of my own event? really polite of you sister." Timothee retorted, feigning offense, but before she could reply, he left them alone to converse again.  
.  
timothee had danced a few dances, with ladies from kingdoms he had never visited. he knew he had a certain charm when it came to women but to have them all throwing themselves at him, all at once, in a single event was a bit overwhelming.  
he retired to his seat by his parents as he grew tired of the affair but on his way, he accidently bumped into a serving girl carrying a tray of wine and the liquid spilled all over his breeches and shoes.  
"I... I am so sorry my lord, I didn't -" the girl began but before she could panic any further, a rushing Saoirse came to their aid and sent the girl away.  
"I am sorry on her behalf, my prince, if you'd only come with me, I should be able to get you new clothes and clean the soiled ones." she offered.  
Timothee only smiled in amusement. he had never understood why the staff got so scared upon committing trivial human blunders such as this, and expected him to behead them? surely they must realise he had more important things at hand than beheading servants? besides the guillotine was reserved for specific criminals.  
"after you." Timothee replied, the amused smirk in place as Saoirse looked up in disbelief.  
she had almost expected him to refuse her offer and go off alone like he usually did but she didn't say anything and just started walking out of the ballroom, Timothee close by.  
"now that we are at it, warm me a bath as well, it has been a tiring day." Timothee said, stifling a yawn.  
before Saoirse could reply, out of nowhere, an arrow flew their way and pierced one of the kingdom flags hanging outside a chamber. within seconds, it rained steel and pointed tips and Saoirse felt strong hands grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into one of the chambers.  
"are you hurt?! stay here and do not move out!" timothee almost yelled as Saoirse's eyes widened in fear.  
"no, no, I am not, are you, my lord?" she said breathlessly but she did not get an answer as Timothee, grabbing a shield adorning one of the walls, made his way out of the chamber, keeping close to the walls.  
by this time, the shower of arrows had dimmed down a little and he could see the soldiers of his kingdom, fighting some foreign ones- swords clashed against shields and spears pierced flesh, there was blood spilling all around as Timothee made his way toward the chamber of his war commander, dodging off arrows and duelling with a soldier or two before he crippled them or drove his sword through their chests.  
as he reached the tower where his commander was supposed to be, he got surrounded by a dozen soldiers, trapping him in a circle, outnumbering him. Timothee held his breath as he desperately tried to think of a way to escape their blockade and enter the tower but just as a couple of soldiers charged at him, he heard the neighing of a horse and before him he saw, something he had never expected to even dream of.  
Saoirse came in, riding a black stallion, effectively trampling a couple of soldiers as she swung her sword from the horseback to slice the neck of another. the war horn of the castle blared as her steel rang through the night and he would have watched her fight for longer had the remaining soldiers not decided to come his way. his shield kept off the attacks of a couple while he kicked the shins of another who approached him and as the man fell, Timothee drove his sword into his back, and then drawing it out of the dead soldier, duelled two others simultaneously.  
as the two swordsmen, fell to their knees he turned around to see Saoirse struggling with keeping off the remaining soldiers. timothee ran to her aid and after some more bloodshed and 6 more dead soldiers, he commanded her to get off the horse and follow him inside the tower.  
"I believe I was clear when I said that you were to stay in the chamber." he said through gritted teeth as they ran up the stairs, watching out for any other enemy soldiers that might be awaiting their chance to attack them.  
"you didn't have armor and helmet and all you had to defend yourself was your longsword and shield, i couldn't have let you go off to fight with that little protection." she replied.  
"so you decided to follow me out? do you realise you could have been killed?"  
"my life is not half as important as yours."  
timothee just huffed out an annoyed sigh as they walked down the corridor to the solar of the commander.  
"where did you even learn to use a sword? those were not amateur moves."  
"your own castle master, my lord." Saoirse replied.  
timothee didn't have the time to be surprised and cross question her as the commander came running out his chamber, dressed in leather and armor, a guard of soldiers following him.  
"my liege! i have allocated soldiers to every part of the castle. more defenders have been sent to the walls and the ballroom's guard has been doubled. the attackers couldn't reach there before our soldiers and i doubt that they are still there.  
"i will have a word with you once this is over. this castle and the fortress of the city was supposed to be guarded so well even a raven couldn't fly past." Timothee spoke in a low, dangerous tone, as his emerald eyes ferociously stared at the commander.  
"i am sorry my lord, this seems like an internal rebellion-"  
"i do not care to discuss it right now," timothee bellowed and a chill ran down Saoirse's spine.  
"Saoirse? help me put on mail and leather and for god's sake stay inside this once."


	7. daggers drawn

"a few of the soldiers have been held hostage for questioning in the dungeons as you instructed, my lord." the commander said, never looking up to meet Timothee's eyes.  
"good. have the guests and the King and Queen been escorted to their bedchambers and their guard doubled?" he demanded, taking off the blood stained gloves and mail.  
"they have."  
"very well. is Saoirse still in the tower? let her know that she can return to Pauline."  
"the girl has been sent, my lord."  
Timothee sighed and resigned to sit on his bed. the breach of the security of the castle and guests there to witness the affair was a most embarrassing ordeal for him and he had half a mind now to post pone the ceremony and send the guests packing for their own safety.  
"Tim?"  
Timothee turned around at the sound of his name to see who was at his threshold. the prince of Brookwood stood there, his golden-brown head peeking in.  
"Ansel... come sit." Timothee invited the prince in his solar.  
the prince graciously took his seat in front of him and poured them both a glass of white wine each. handing Timothee his glass, he relaxed back.  
"so... did any of the hostages tell you anything?"  
timothee was in no mood to answer anyone. he was already embarrassed enough, he did not need the guests' questions about the incident to make him feel worse.  
"they will soon. why are you here?"  
"well, to see if you need help. we are friends before anything, aren't we?" the prince said, a small smile playing on his lips.  
timothee just nodded and stood up, abandoning his glass of unfinished wine.  
"you should be with my sister, shouldn't you? I am pretty sure she is really giving herself crippling anxiety over your well being at this moment." he said in an attempt to skip talking about the incident.  
"well, she seemed more concerned about you and still more about her waiting maid... what's her name?"  
timothee smiled a little before replying, "Saoirse."  
"yes, heard she fought too. do you train women in the castle too? I wonder if Pauline knows how to fight."  
timothee clenched his jaw at that and all he wanted at the moment was for everyone to be gone so he can have time to think over the situation and figure out what to do next.  
"she does not. and we don't train women."  
Prince Ansel seemed to have got the hint that he was not being a comforter and more of an annoyance to the crowned prince.  
"good night then m'lord. I hope to see you in the fencing arena for practice in the morning."  
he called for a servant and asked him to send Saoirse. they needed to talk about tons of things, and to begin with, he wanted to know where she learnt to use swords like that.  
———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————  
"you called for me m'lord? i am sorry for the delay, your sister needed some stuff done." saoirse said from outside Timothees chamber curtains.  
it had been so long since he had called for her that he had almost fallen asleep.  
"come in." he said in a groggy, raspy voice.  
outside, Saoirse's breath caught in her throat. she always had had a thing for timothees voice when it was heavy and laced with sleep. she moved the velvet curtains aside and got in to see timothee half lying-half sitting on his bed, his cloak and shoes still on.  
before saoirse could say anything, timothee sat up in a flash and threw his dagger, still sheathed, at her. she ducked it just in time as it hit the wall behind her. her eyes widened in shock at his imprudent behavior but she wouldnt dare ask what was that for no matter she wanted to.  
he had an eyebrow cocked as he looked at her and with slow, predator like steps approached her. she backed away till she felt the wall behind her, her breathing uneasy now.  
timothee bent down and picking up the dagger, brought it under her chin, slightly lifting her face up so she met his eyes. the distance between them was almost negligible as his free hand trapped her on one side.  
"there is no way you could have dodged that unless someone trained you." he whispered, bringing his mouth close to her ear as her chest visibly rose and fell at the contact.  
"as stated earlier, it was your own castle master." saoirse replied breathlessly.  
"but he doesnt train women! did Pauline put you up with a trainer? no warrior is made here without the knowledge of the king, which is my father at this point, in this castle! do you even know what punishments lie waiting for you if this word gets out, which it definitely will since you displayed your colossal, heroic behavior tonight." he spoke through gritted teeth.  
"i am sorry mlord, i was just trying to save you. please believe me when i say it was your own master. i go to the arena almost daily and watch him train his pupils and then right after i practice them in a spare space where i know it is safe to. i spend almost all of my excess time either knitting or practicing swordplay. i dont think the master even knows i sit there and watch the daily practice."  
"so you expect me to believe that by merely watching people practice, you learned all of that." Timothee asked skeptically.  
"i have never lied to you milord and i do not even plan on doing so any time soon."  
she let herself stare into his poetic yet fierce emerald eyes now that he was quiet. his forehead was creased and he searched her face for any signs of deceit.  
feeling brave, mostly because of the intoxicating scent he was emanating and she was getting high on, she slowly, encircled the wrist which held the knife to her chin and lowered it, surprised by how soft his skin actually was.  
"i get lied to all the time, you know? i can make it out when someone actually is doing it. i can almost smell the lies in the air, it is that frequent."  
saoirse felt her heart ache for him as soon as the words were out of his mouth. she knew he was a good man with a ginormous heart- he was kind and forgiving and just and powerful all at the same time and most importantly, he did not deserve being lied to.  
"trust takes time and a lot of physical evidence to build. i am not asking you to trust me right away, but as evidence, you can ask your master if he has ever trained me or even seen me in the battling ground. i always watch from afar. you can even ask all trainers in the city if they've trained me and they would just shake their heads. i'm just a really good student that's all. I am really sorry, however, that i did not inform any one of my interest in warfare. i did not know that had to be done. i would-" Saoirse spoke but she was silenced with Timothees finger on her lips.  
"stop rambling." he said, a smile decorating his beautiful face.  
Saoirse couldn't help but smile back, knowing that she had convinced him.  
they had known each other for all their lives. she had grown up playing with Pauline and him and as they grew up, and he became a man, they drifted apart but she hoped he still remembered how he used to chase her and run to her aid whenever she got hurt- how he would always give her the things that he wanted to hide, knowing they were safe with her, and she guarded those little things with her life.  
he had trusted her then.  
it was almost as if Timothee could read her thoughts that he said, "i have something i want you to keep for me and guard it well. it is quite important."  
"with all that i have." Saoirse replied smiling brighter.  
she held out her hand and he placed his dagger in it.  
"keep this with you and do not let anyone else touch it. i forged it myself."  
she looked up at him, the dagger heavy in her hand as she closed her fingers around it, only to find him looking back, his eyes never having left her face.


	8. twirl and pirouette

"Put the flowers by the window, light the candles and put them away from the curtain, good gods you will burn it all! - and where do you think you're taking those silks?! put them in the trunk over there!" Saoirse hurriedly gave a string of instructions as Pauline's room was being set up.  
"Saoirse?"  
Saoirse turned around and a fresh-from-the-bath Pauline stood by the velvet threshold.  
"Where have you been? The Prince will be here any minute! unless... he prefers you like this which I am sure he does." Saoirse teased her, a smirk covering her lips.  
Pauline blushed scarlet upon the comment and shushed Saoirse.  
"how do you know he's coming?" the princess asked.  
"well, my forgetful lady, I was supposed to make arrangements for some private time for you and the prince of Brookwood, as instructed by your very own mother. You and him are to take the royal carriage and go hunting today." Saoirse replied while simultaneously rushing Pauline into a lilac gown that made her emerald eyes shine.  
"could you not have arranged for anything else but a sport? you know how much I hate the outdoors."  
"compromise for love, princess. The prince is all for a good throw of the spear and bringing down wild boars and more or so I've heard."  
As Saoirse was almost done with Pauline's hair, a serving maid entered the room, bearing the news of the arrival of the prince in the tower. Saoirse hurried the maids out of the chamber at that till there was only herself and Pauline.  
"Remember, you can always say no to him if he demands anything you do not want. You don't have to be a doll he can bend as he likes. I will go see if the carriage and your guard are ready." Saoirse said.  
"I trust him Saoirse. I cannot think of him risking my comfort for his pleasure. You can trust him too, it really is okay." Pauline exclaimed smiling at her.  
"I know. I just felt like I should say it. You don't mostly place yourself first after all. It is universally hard I think, for those born a woman."  
and smiling, Saoirse left the chamber, bowing to the approaching Prince in the hallway, who greeted her back with a small smile and a little nod of the head.  
She stood there watching him for a while, as he waved his guard away and instead of barging inside a lady's room like most of their lovers and men of high birth do, he knocked his knuckles at the door in a gentle rhythm till Pauline opened it for him.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Saoirse sat in her bed in her small room, Timothee's dagger in her hand. She turned it around and unsheathed it slowly, running a finger down its blade and caressing its hilt, which was forged with gold, carvings of a lion's head adorning it.  
She wondered why he'd given it to her. Was it hers to use now or just for safekeeping? He kept an armory full of his personal weapons and yet he couldn't keep another small dagger safe with him? Who was he hiding it from him, if he was hiding it at all?  
An idea suddenly struck her mind and she hung up little wool balls on her wall. she inched back as far away as the room would allow and took her stance. Aiming for the hanging wool, she threw the dagger in a straight line but it missed the wool ball by almost half a foot.  
She sighed and went to retrieve the dagger when she heard footfalls outside her door. she quickly bent down and picked the dagger up and sheathing it, she hid it in the deep pockets of her worn grey gown.  
Before long, a serving maid knocked at her door and she opened it to find her standing there with a bundle full of folded golden silk and with her another serving maid stood with boxes upon boxes of what looked like different kinds of sequins and jewels.  
they entered and putting all the stuff down on her bed they went on to explain to Saoirse how the queen wanted her to make a silk doublet which she could present to the royal family from Manis Land who were to arrive in two days.  
"Two days? How am I supposed to do it that fast all on my own? Did she not assign this to me and a few of the royal tailors as a team?" she asked. bewildered.  
"The tailors are already engaged in making other gifts of raiment for the arriving guests, also, she said the cloth doesn't need to be altered. It is already the size it needs to be. And this for you." handing Saoirse a note and saying thus, the two maids left her small room and Saoirse huffed, thumping down on her bed, putting the jaw dropping-ly long silk cloth and the boxes of sequins and semi precious jewels aside.  
She had hoped to visit the arena again but that would have to be put on hold she was able to get this done or soon she would find her head decorating the spikes. Before she got started, she hastily opened the little scroll of parchment sealed with the royal wax seal. She had anticipated it to be from the queen as well, containing some other instructions about the doublet or maybe even to ask about the arrangements for Pauline and Prince Ansel's visits around the kingdom but her eyes went wide and her heart started beating a little faster as she recognised the handwriting on the parchment.  
A mountain's gap lies between a twirl and a pirouette. A little dance lesson for you in the ballroom of sweat and blood tonight. Come stealthily else don't.  
\- you don't need a name written when its already sitting at the tip of your tongue, waiting to touch your lips.


	9. dance lesson

author's note- I suck at updating.  
Saoirse had spent all day working faster than she usually would have cared to on the doublet that was asked of her. She wanted to be able to make it on time to the dance lesson she had been invited to.  
After reading the note, she had been giddy and a pleasant excitement swirled in her gut ever since. When she saw the sun almost kiss the horizon, she began putting away her needle work and pocketing the note and the prince's dagger, she covered herself in a black cloak, her hood up.  
She did not take the usual direct route to the arena or it would have been easy enough for even the children of the castle to stop and interrogate her.  
Come stealthily, else don't.  
She took the path she was sure not even the sneakiest of the castle lot might be aware of. It was a narrow corridor that opened from a hind curtain in Pauline's room into the arena, which Pauline had made in secret and then deported the people who had worked on it to another part of the kingdom. When Saoirse had asked her why she had done it, she always got the same answer- if they were ever under attack, she would have a direct access to the place housing their weapons and hence a better chance at self-defence, but no matter how many times Pauline had repeated that reason to her, Saoirse knew that her royal highness had done it for her.  
She had seen Saoirse and her love for learning warfare and had since made every possible effort to aid her in acquiring the knowledge and skill. They used the passage sparingly though, not risking to have it discovered or Pauline could get into cold, deep waters with her family.  
Tonight, since the castle was busy in serving the royal guests and Pauline and Ansel had still not returned from their hunt, Saoirse decided to make use of the secret corridor.  
She sneaked into Pauline's room, keeping to the shadows and taking the darkest, least used path to the princess's quarters, successfully avoiding human contact on her way.  
She closed the door behind her and making her way to the hind part of the room, she parted the thick curtain that concealed the doorway to the passage. She drew out the key Pauline had provided her with and opened the heavy leaden door.  
She took a small candle from the bedside and locking the door behind her, she walked down the narrow candlelit path. The other end of the passage had a similar leaden door that opened with a separate key and unlocking it, Saoirse found herself in the box for royal ladies, built at a good height from the arena ground.  
It was completely dark, the only illumination being from the crescent moon hanging in the sky and her small candle as she walked into the arena ground, having descended the stairs from the box into the pavilion directly beneath it.  
She looked around to see any trace of a certain lean yet built figure or perhaps a lush mop of dark curls but no one could be found in sight. She walked around for a bit, but when she encountered absolute nothingness, she began to feel fear pooling in her gut. After that day's attack, she couldn't have been certain if this was a trap and she had fallen stupidly into it.  
As soon as she slipped her hand into her pocket to retrieve Timothee's dagger, she felt cold, hard steel pressing against her neck. She closed her eyes and breathing heavily, with all her force, she hit the arm holding the weapon to her neck behind her, and attempted to spin away but was caught at the wrist. Before she knew it, her back was pressed against a hard chest and a familiar scent filled her senses. If it was possible, her heart began beating even faster and she froze in her position.  
"Rule number one- never not be on your guard." She felt Timothee breathe down her neck and she struggled to stay still. Before long, the wrist that held hers was gone and the strong scent of sandalwood and wine and Timothee, seemed more of a substance of dreams than of physical reality.  
She turned around and saw the prince standing with his hands behind his back, looking down at her sternly.  
"It's good you brought my dagger, but you would not have need of it." He said, handing her a wooden sword and abandoning his own steel one, he opted for the same.  
She shrugged off her cloak and cast it away to rest on one of the seats in the spectator area. Timothee spent the next hour, showing her the correct way to hold a sword and the perfect stance for fencing, which she had already known but let the prince revise it all over again for her, feeling her heart flutter every time he touched her to bring her to the perfect position if she got out of it.  
"Now always aim for somebody's vitals, you wouldn't want your opponent to stagger back and attack you. I personally believe in killing somebody right in the first go." And saying thus, Timothee put two fingers on her neck where her pulse beat.  
"Attack here if that is where you can reach the quickest and you'll be able to take off your opponents head."  
She nodded, letting him know that she understood. Then placing the same fingers on her stomach, following the line of her sternum, he applied a little bit of pressure.  
"Or you might attack the guts if thats easier."  
Saoirse gulped as he withdrew his hand and taking back a few steps, instructed her to start parrying. They engaged in a series of attacks and defences, their wooden swords tip-tapping through the night. Saoirse couldnt last for more than a few seconds in a parry before Timothee disarmed her or tackled her to the ground and before she even had time to take a breath, he would have pulled her up and they would have begun another round.  
This went on for what felt like hours and Saoirse had never felt so tired yet so giddy in her life. When they were done, she went to retrieve her cloak from the spectator area, as Timothee re-tied the strings to his tunic, sweat running down the sides of his face and his beautiful jewel-like eyes shining in the night, almost with a light of their own.  
"Run me a bath and if you tell anyone about today, you might as well prepare for a parry where I use a real steel and you fight with a cotton sword." He said sternly before leaving the arena and Saoirse alone.


	10. heir of elliot

author's note- I suck at updating.  
Saoirse had spent all day working faster than she usually would have cared to on the doublet that was asked of her. She wanted to be able to make it on time to the dance lesson she had been invited to.  
After reading the note, she had been giddy and a pleasant excitement swirled in her gut ever since. When she saw the sun almost kiss the horizon, she began putting away her needle work and pocketing the note and the prince's dagger, she covered herself in a black cloak, her hood up.  
She did not take the usual direct route to the arena or it would have been easy enough for even the children of the castle to stop and interrogate her.  
Come stealthily, else don't.  
She took the path she was sure not even the sneakiest of the castle lot might be aware of. It was a narrow corridor that opened from a hind curtain in Pauline's room into the arena, which Pauline had made in secret and then deported the people who had worked on it to another part of the kingdom. When Saoirse had asked her why she had done it, she always got the same answer- if they were ever under attack, she would have a direct access to the place housing their weapons and hence a better chance at self-defence, but no matter how many times Pauline had repeated that reason to her, Saoirse knew that her royal highness had done it for her.  
She had seen Saoirse and her love for learning warfare and had since made every possible effort to aid her in acquiring the knowledge and skill. They used the passage sparingly though, not risking to have it discovered or Pauline could get into cold, deep waters with her family.  
Tonight, since the castle was busy in serving the royal guests and Pauline and Ansel had still not returned from their hunt, Saoirse decided to make use of the secret corridor.  
She sneaked into Pauline's room, keeping to the shadows and taking the darkest, least used path to the princess's quarters, successfully avoiding human contact on her way.  
She closed the door behind her and making her way to the hind part of the room, she parted the thick curtain that concealed the doorway to the passage. She drew out the key Pauline had provided her with and opened the heavy leaden door.  
She took a small candle from the bedside and locking the door behind her, she walked down the narrow candlelit path. The other end of the passage had a similar leaden door that opened with a separate key and unlocking it, Saoirse found herself in the box for royal ladies, built at a good height from the arena ground.  
It was completely dark, the only illumination being from the crescent moon hanging in the sky and her small candle as she walked into the arena ground, having descended the stairs from the box into the pavilion directly beneath it.  
She looked around to see any trace of a certain lean yet built figure or perhaps a lush mop of dark curls but no one could be found in sight. She walked around for a bit, but when she encountered absolute nothingness, she began to feel fear pooling in her gut. After that day's attack, she couldn't have been certain if this was a trap and she had fallen stupidly into it.  
As soon as she slipped her hand into her pocket to retrieve Timothee's dagger, she felt cold, hard steel pressing against her neck. She closed her eyes and breathing heavily, with all her force, she hit the arm holding the weapon to her neck behind her, and attempted to spin away but was caught at the wrist. Before she knew it, her back was pressed against a hard chest and a familiar scent filled her senses. If it was possible, her heart began beating even faster and she froze in her position.  
"Rule number one- never not be on your guard." She felt Timothee breathe down her neck and she struggled to stay still. Before long, the wrist that held hers was gone and the strong scent of sandalwood and wine and Timothee, seemed more of a substance of dreams than of physical reality.  
She turned around and saw the prince standing with his hands behind his back, looking down at her sternly.  
"It's good you brought my dagger, but you would not have need of it." He said, handing her a wooden sword and abandoning his own steel one, he opted for the same.  
She shrugged off her cloak and cast it away to rest on one of the seats in the spectator area. Timothee spent the next hour, showing her the correct way to hold a sword and the perfect stance for fencing, which she had already known but let the prince revise it all over again for her, feeling her heart flutter every time he touched her to bring her to the perfect position if she got out of it.  
"Now always aim for somebody's vitals, you wouldn't want your opponent to stagger back and attack you. I personally believe in killing somebody right in the first go." And saying thus, Timothee put two fingers on her neck where her pulse beat.  
"Attack here if that is where you can reach the quickest and you'll be able to take off your opponents head."  
She nodded, letting him know that she understood. Then placing the same fingers on her stomach, following the line of her sternum, he applied a little bit of pressure.  
"Or you might attack the guts if thats easier."  
Saoirse gulped as he withdrew his hand and taking back a few steps, instructed her to start parrying. They engaged in a series of attacks and defences, their wooden swords tip-tapping through the night. Saoirse couldnt last for more than a few seconds in a parry before Timothee disarmed her or tackled her to the ground and before she even had time to take a breath, he would have pulled her up and they would have begun another round.  
This went on for what felt like hours and Saoirse had never felt so tired yet so giddy in her life. When they were done, she went to retrieve her cloak from the spectator area, as Timothee re-tied the strings to his tunic, sweat running down the sides of his face and his beautiful jewel-like eyes shining in the night, almost with a light of their own.  
"Run me a bath and if you tell anyone about today, you might as well prepare for a parry where I use a real steel and you fight with a cotton sword." He said sternly before leaving the arena and Saoirse alone.


	11. keep a secret

"How was your time with the prince?"Saoirse asked Pauline as soon as the princess drew the thick curtains of her chamber and resigned to lie in her bed.  
Pauline buried her face in the pillow, and Saoirse couldnt help but tickle the sole of her foot to get her to sit up and talk. The princess was blushing scarlet and smiling wider than Saoirse had seen her do in the past few months.  
"I dont think I deserve him." Pauline declared.  
"Correct. You deserve infinitely better."Saoirse spoke in a flat tone.  
"Why is it that ones closest friend always secretly or overtly hates ones love interest?" The princess giggled.  
"I detest hunting, not only because it is a sport but also because it is cruel. Animals have a right to life just as much as any of us do. He turned the entire troop around to visit another lake because I voiced this very opinion." She explained.  
"My heartiest gratitude to him for doing the bare minimum by respecting his almost fiancées opinions."  
"Saoirse! Why cant you appreciate him for once?" Pauline chastised.  
"Not until he does something worthwhile, milady. He has you to woo, and I wont let you fall for someone who gets away with it by making the most basic efforts."  
Pauline stared at her best friend with eyes filled to the brim with love and admiration. She had never been good at estimating as to exactly how she came about to have the best of everything- a noble family, fiancé, and confidante. It was beyond her comprehension, at least at the moment.  
"Talk about your day, I know I wont keep it brief about the prince in this lifetime." She ordered more than asked.  
"Nothing out of the ordinary to interest you, my lady," Saoirse replied and looked away, as she always did unconsciously when she was concealing the whole or part of the truth. Unfortunately for her, Pauline was an observant woman and instantly told Saoirse to decide between getting beheaded or letting her in on the true story.  
Saoirse took in a deep breath, not sure if it was a monumental decision to be talking about this with Pauline.  
"I... I had a fencing lesson today." Saoirse breathed out.  
"And?" Pauline interjected when her best friend had not spoken for a while after that.  
"With your brother. He had offered to teach me a few things earlier, and I gladly accepted, even though I know I shouldnt have."  
"Knowing Timothee, I know it was a command and not an offer. Why is he suddenly interested in giving fencing lessons to my waiting-maid?" Pauline said, her sculpted lips formed into a pout.  
"The day the castle was under attack, I saved the prince by stupidly just barging into the scene and fending off enemies as best as I could, but if I didnt, the prince could have been dead. He didnt believe me when I said that I had I learned what I displayed in the battle scene that day by mere observation and the next thing I know, I am getting a concealed letter from him to meet him in the arena to practice fencing." Saoirse recounted.  
"And when were you going to tell me all of that?" Pauline asked, and if it was possible, her pout became more intense.  
"Forgive me... I didnt think it was appropriate for me to talk to you about it. I already broke a rule by telling you about this affair. He asked me not to." Saoirse replied, mentally making a note to never mention Timothee and herself to Pauline in the same context again.  
"All secrets that nobody should know, do not include the dearest friend in the contract, sweet one, and please, no more of your propriety with me. You know full well that I do not care two grains about it. Id use filthier words if I were a man." Pauline said and giggled.  
"Like you do not give two fucks about propriety?" Saoirse asked, smirking.  
"I hate you sometimes for reading my mind like that."  
The two young women laughed and joked back and forth for most of the night after that. Before, leaving for her bed-chamber, Saoirse heard a sleepy Pauline mutter something like, "Timothee must give a fuck about you to personally train you like that" and before she could hear more things to give wings to a futile fantasy of hers, she left the chamber and resigned to her own quarter in the dungeon.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Send for His Highness! Send for Highness!"  
Saoirse woke up to servants screaming from outside her little room. She hastily put on a gown and splashing some cold water on her face, before taming her hair, she broke into a run as soon as she got out into the corridor.  
When she reached the upper levels of the castle, keeping close to the walls, her hand close to her dagger, in case they were under attack again, she saw the royal family and some guests huddled around a wall.  
What Saoirse saw next, made her want to puke her intestines out- a mans head was fixed on one of the castles spikes, fresh blood running down its length, the body of a beheaded soldier lay lifeless on the ground and what was presumably his blood, scarlet words were painted on the wall across.  
'The heir of Elliot, the queen of the isles, shall be crowned and not the son of a usurper on our holy isles. The choice between a war that destroys all or giving the throne to the rightful queen is yours. The King knows and he shall obey or die.'  
Her heart filled with dread.  
She had known that royals had many foes who wanted a claim over their wealth and women, but never had she heard such a direct, demanding threat. Who this queen, heir of Elliot was, Saoirse had no clue but what she knew was, that the King and his family were in more danger than ever since this odd messenger had got inside the castle, kill a soldier and write a warning in blood on a castle wall and escaped.  
Next thing she knew, the enemy could breathe down the Kings neck and nobody would know. Probably the hands behind the attack and this message were the same and if so, the foe had intruded upon the castle lands, unharmed, twice.  
Her eyes landed in a corner and she saw Timothee, running his hand through his curls, studiously examining the wall and the message. The sunlight caught in his locks and made him glow almost divinely, and Saoirse hated herself for thinking about his beauty in a time like this.  
Before she could look away, a pair of intense green eyes stared back into hers, the expression in them unreadable, but she knew she ought to look away.  
She didnt, more like she couldnt. It was almost as if she was providing him with some silent validation she was unaware of, but he seemed to relax visibly before walking away from his spot and joining the king and other ministers in their discussion by the spike.  
Her senses seemed to return, and Saoirse looked around for Pauline.  
She stood with the Queen a little way off, but before she could walk to her, she watched the other maids and the Queen leave her side as Prince Ansel approached her. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he spoke something to her which made Pauline visibly shiver before a few tears slipped down her cheeks.  
The Prince wiped them away and pulled her into his chest, stroking her hair and cooing comforting words into her ear.  
Maybe he was not that bad after all, Saoirse thought, and left to make Paulines room presentable.


	12. die for me

Will they be fine? Pauline asked, trying her hardest not to cry as she sat in the arms of Ansel in her chamber.  
"Of course, the King and your brother are valiant men, my sweet princess. If theres anyone out there with a cause to worry, it is the enemy, not us," he reassured.  
Pauline smiled a small smile, her face buried in his chest as he ran his fingers down the length of her hair.  
"You are joining ranks with us if it comes to battle, arent you?"  
"Why wont I? I have a princess to keep safe." He said and kissing the top of her head, he let her go.  
"I know a thing or two about keeping myself safe, I dont need you or anyone to save me." She said with a teasing smirk.  
"I do not doubt that one bit, but then what is it you need me for?" The prince asked, shifting closer to her and tucking a stray strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.  
"Its a good political alliance. The people of both the kingdoms would benefit from this." Pauline replied, the smirk still in place and the prince leaned away from her with a mock frown on his face.  
"Is that all?" He asked, with a pang of almost genuine sadness in his eyes.  
"I think. Maybe also the fact that I have never laid eyes on a better man and that I have never felt such affection for anyone else."  
As soon as the words left her mouth, she saw his eyes widen, and they almost glimmered in the room's candlelight. He took her hand in his larger one and rubbed circles on the back with his thumb.  
"What do you need me for, Ansel?" she whispered, realizing they were only a few inches from each other now.  
"A good political alliance." He whispered back, and they giggled before he grew serious and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles.  
"Do you remember all those balls in the past years at Brookwood and Elmcaster? I wanted to dance with you at every single one, for the entire night. I have never wanted to stab anyone more than all those other princes who you gave the honor to dance with you at them. At first, it was just how lovely you looked that drew me in, I wont lie. But then my fortunes rose, and I got the pleasure of knowing you, taking royal tours with you and your family, and before I knew it, every single thing you did, fascinated me to no extent." He spoke.  
"Thats... sweet, mlord." She reckoned, blushing a furious shade of crimson.  
They were so close, he could feel Paulines dark locks that fell over her shoulders, against his arms.  
"I must tell you I have never cared more for a woman and I dont think I ever will. We might war any moment and I do not want to regret having not told you that,"he said and she placed a finger over his lips to shut him up.  
"You wont die if it comes to that. You are too skilled to lose your life to war. I know you will live a ripe age and be an honored king and... maybe... have a wife you care for." She breathed and looked into his waiting eyes.  
He leaned in and she closed her eyes before hearing him ask a soft, "May I?"  
To answer him, she cupped the right of his face with her hand and pressed their lips together. They sat like that for a while, not moving, just comprehending the moment and what it stood for. Somehow the mention of war, its uncertainties, and the sorrow more than fulfillment it brought had made their hearts heavier, as though coated with lead.  
When they finally pulled apart, Pauline was teary-eyed again.  
"How can I not come back for you?" He asked rhetorically and gathering up his sword, which seemed to be an inseparable part of him, he left.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Saoirse hurried down the hallway to her room to collect her dagger for the fencing lesson. She must have been running so blindly that when she crashed into another figure, she fell back with a start.  
"Are you alright Mother?" She asked, helping her mother up whom she had collided with.  
"Y-Yes. Move aside." The woman replied, clearly in more of a hurry than Saoirse. Sometimes, Saoirse could not help but realize where she got her nerves from.  
"What happened to your hands?" She asked when she saw her mothers palms heavily bandaged.  
"The moron cook dropped broth on me. A perk of working in the kitchens, my girl. Before I forget, I will leave with some castle staff this evening to receive some other guests by the harbor. I wont be back for the next two days." She explained and patting Saoirse on the arm, took her leave.  
She watched the woman leave, her stance swift for a lady in the fourth decade of her life.  
*  
"You need to keep your arms steady if you want to block attacks, Saoirse," Timothee remarked after having knocked Saoirse down for the eighth time in a row.  
He was more aggressive today than he had last been and less careful with his attacks on her, almost forgetting that she was still a warrior in training and not good enough to tackle someone like him if he fought as he does on battlefields.  
She took his hand before he lifted her up and in a breath, moved away, ready for another parry.  
"I need to... take a moment." She said panting. They hadnt stopped once since they started practicing half an hour ago.  
"The field wont let you take a moment. "He said and swinging his wooden sword, aimed a blow at her head, but Saoirse was quick and blocked it well enough.  
What Timothee hadnt expected was Saoirse attacking right back after a hefty defense move, and she took him off guard when she dropped a series of successive, lightning-swift attacks on him.  
It took him some effort to block her off, but within seconds, he gained his control back and catching a slow attack, turned the table around by dropping his array of swings and blows on her.  
They were more than Saoirse could keep up with, but all she wanted to do was to disarm the prince just this once.  
She kicked his shin out of the blue and taking advantage of him staggering back; she aimed a blow at his wrist; the sword falling out of his grip as she tackled him to the ground.  
"Will the field allow me a moment now?" She asked and smiling, lifted Timothee up.  
They walked to the spectator area and sat down, side by side.  
"Why are you doing this? I am grateful to you for all the efforts youre putting into this for me, but why?" She asked the one question that had been plaguing her ever since this whole affair began, as he wiped the dirt off his hands from a cloth.  
He tossed the cloth aside and rubbed his hands together.  
"So you dont get yourself killed."  
"But any master couldve done it, why take the pains yourself?"  
"I.. dont know. Can we not speak about this?"  
"Okay," Saoirse mumbled, and they stared into the empty arena for a long while, the silence between them not exactly uncomfortable but still there didnt seem like a need to fill it.  
"Youve always been keeping things for me, even though I didnt give you much for a while to keep. Can you keep a secret?" He asked, still not looking at her.  
"Of course," Saoirse replied and finally, his green orbs landed on hers, with an almost pleading look and he put his head on her shoulder.


	13. throwing pebbles

"Who do you think it is? The heir of Elliot?" Saoirse asked, as Timothee continued resting his head on her shoulder, staring up at the twilight dissolving into the night.  
"King Elliot was the ruler of Elmcaster before us. My father won these isles in battle from him, and he died later. Mother tells me he had a pregnant wife, and that we sheltered them in the castle, but Father kept their identities so discreet, he did not let anyone know a thing about the woman and the child- not even to her. After a while, people just assumed that they were killed or they fled." He explained.  
"I would not blame them. It is not exactly lovely to be a prisoner of war, even though your father is a good man."  
Timothee just hummed in response and Saoirse was vividly aware of every cubit of distance between them, the warmth where his head touched her shoulder, how his soft hair tickled the crook of her neck. She noticed everything to harmful, voluminous extents- so much so that her heart had picked up a few notches in pace.  
"My notion is they fled and formed some alliance. They saw ripe timing to hatch their conspiracies, what with the festivities going on and transferring power to a prince whom the people do not know intimately yet- it is easy to breed distrust among the public in such a situation." He said.  
"Or it could be some former supporters and loyalists of Elliot who rescued his Queen and child, they could be however many in number." Saoirse suggested.  
"Could be." Timothee mumbled and before she could stop herself, Saoirse put in place a few loose curls on Timothees head that were threatening to get entangled and stuck with her small earring. She was about to apologise and explain when she felt him tense beside her initially, but then, to her surprise, he snuggled closer.  
She put her hand away, afraid to cross any boundaries and risk Timothees coldness if not rage.  
"Don't stop. Play with my hair. It is comforting." He breathed out and thoroughly surprised, Saoirse sat there almost paralysed for a bit before touching her slim fingers to his scalp and massaging in a rhythm.  
"Does it scare you? This entire ordeal?" She asked.  
"Overwhelm would be a better word. You?"  
"At first I was, but then all I felt was anger. Why is it so hard to accept defeat? If they really want a fair war, or surrender, why not pose an open challenge rather than hiding in cowardice and discreetly attacking?"  
"Values and bravery only give one an easy, direct victory in fairytales. There are a lot of shadows and patches to honesty and virtue involved." He sighed and moving his hand to take hers, positioned it at one of his temples, showing her to massage there.  
"Which is exactly why it angers me. I hope it does not come to war." She spoke, pressing down into his skin.  
"We hope for a lot of things Saoirse, how many do we get?" He replied, lifting his head off her shoulder for the final time before getting up and looking her in the eyes.  
Saoirse matched his stare, unable to answer or even comprehend his meaning. She got up too.  
"Do not look at me like that." He said when they did not move for a while.  
"Like what?"  
"Like you'd die for me."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Do we have any suspects, Hawklin?" The King asked.  
"Your Grace, every entrance to the castle and the kingdom has been checked. We have found no accounts of suspicious activity yet. I have sent messages to our spies in enemy kingdoms. We are waiting for their word back." The Prime Minister replied.  
"Ser Boris, has the guard been refined and doubled?"  
"Yes, Your Grace, but I still suggest postponing the coronation till we sort this mess." The old minister spoke.  
"And do exactly what the foe wants us to do? Marvellous. The ceremony will happen ten days from now and there is nothing that can change that." The Kings voice boomed throughout the court.  
"Your Grace, the King of Brookwood demands your audience." A meek messenger boy informed the royalty, and the King bid all ministers to leave.  
When the other man entered the court, his flowing copper robes prominent and his crown a dazzle, King Marc stood up to greet him.  
"To what do I owe the honour, good King?" He spoke, smiling as if he had not been yelling just a few moments ago.  
"Your daughter." The other King replied, beaming, and took his seat.  
"What about her?"  
"Oh Marc, you and I, need this alliance between us to grow stronger, especially in times like these when you need all the allies you can possibly get. Besides, Ansel and Pauline seem to get along really well. She was really kind to give him a tour of the kingdom and to say it impressed the Prince would just be scratching the surface." The King explained.  
"Are you proposing a--?"  
"Marriage between the two. Yes. Let Timothee sit on the throne of Elmcaster and Pauline on that of Brookwood beside Ansel. What do you say?"  
"At least some cause for merry-making today." King Marc said, his smile touching his eyes.


	14. joust

"If we keep waiting for a message from the spies, we are going to get nowhere." Timothee snapped when one courtier suggested the idea.  
"What do you think, Ansel?" King Marc asked.  
"I agree with the Prince, Your Grace. We never know when they might attack next."  
"And you, my Queen?"  
"I trust the spies of the kingdom to send something useful to us before it is too late. Besides being on our guard, what else can we even do?" The Queen answered.  
"Are you sure that hosting the jousting match tomorrow is safe, my liege?" The Prime Minister interjected, when no one had spoken for a while.  
"It is as much a part of the coronation ceremony as the feast or the Balls or the prayers. It will be tomorrow." The King confirmed.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Saoirse had been practicing throwing knives for most of the day in her room, since Pauline had to be in the castle temple, observing some prayers for the safety of the kingdom and her family.  
Saoirse had always thought that the castle priests had more power with them than they should get. If it were up to her, religious counsel would not even be a thing. How would a bunch of symbolic rites help feed hungry mouths of the kingdom? She believed in God, but not the way these priests wanted everybody to.  
Ever since she had seen the bloody words scrawled on the wall yesterday, and the beheaded soldier, she could not shake its image from her mind. She had even dreamed the previous night of it, and it had only been in Timothee's company in the arena she had shaken it off from her thoughts.  
Growing restless, she pocketed the dagger in her dress and made her way out of her small room. She had been wandering, not knowing where her feet were taking her, but as realisation dawned on her, it had been too late.  
She stood in front of the same wall; the words scrubbed clean now, and stared at it as if trying to will those words to appear again so she could study them, look at them a little longer- maybe she could find some more meaning in them?  
She spun around and gazed at the spot where the head of the soldier had been, not more than a day ago, and started making her way toward it. A part of her screamed to run back to her room, or even Pauline's. The princess would not mind, but her body refused to cooperate.  
As she neared the place, her heart beat faster and suddenly she felt as if there was not enough air to breathe even though she was in the open.  
She skimmed her fingers along the painted railing and as her gaze fell to a dusty corner; she spotted a familiar, torn pale blue cloth of a dress.  
Mother.  
Saoirse thought, and suddenly, it felt as though the world came crashing down on her.  
Coming to her senses, she hastily hid the cloth in the folds of her dress before anyone could see her holding it. She ran, as fast as she could, to the one place that never failed to calm her nerves.  
As she approached the forests by the castle, she slowed her pace down, walking carefully among the trees, avoiding the thorn bushes and focusing on the sounds of the jungle.  
Monkeys chattered in the distance and cuckoos sung. The light from the sun caught into the thick canopy the trees formed and the earth below her feet felt cold but welcoming. That was why she returned here- nature was always welcoming.  
She always made her way to the lake in the middle of the forest, and today was no different. Kicking a few fallen twigs out of her way, she finally reached the slope, down which the beautiful lake and its surrounding sandy bank was.  
But before she could slide down, her eyes landed on a figure, sitting by the lake, throwing pebbles into it.  
"My lord?" she called.  
The Prince looked up with a start but his eyes softened as he took in Saoirse's form. He said nothing but returned to his routine of picking up a pebble, weighing it in his hand and then tossing it mindlessly into the lake.  
Saoirse walked down to his side and took a seat before submerging her fingers into the cold water, hissing as it almost stung.  
"They think we should wait around for the messengers." Timothee spoke, disappointment coating his voice.  
"And what do you think?" She asked.  
"The opposite."  
"Do you have a plan?"  
"Yes, and you walked right into it." He declared.  
"I apologize... I dont get-"  
"I had already found your mother's gown's piece, and I placed it there for you to find. I knew you would go back to the wall. I also knew you would come here." He explained and Saoirse gulped before pulling the piece of cloth out.  
"I began investigating about who this belonged to as soon as I had gotten out of there, but by the time I found out, she had fled. Where is she Saoirse?" He asked through gritted teeth. His eyes held accusations in them, and mistrust.  
"Th-The last time I saw her, she told me she was going away for two days to the harbour with some castle staff to receive some guests. I know nothing more." She answered, beginning to feel a chill creeping up her spine.  
He kept holding her gaze, searching for a trace of deceit, a whiff of lies, but found none. There was nothing but pure honesty and ignorance in her sapphire orbs.  
"There were no guests. Everyone who was invited has arrived." He whispered after moments.  
Saoirse's heart dropped as soon as she heard that. She wanted to say so many things, ask so many questions, but her tongue felt as though it was glued to the roof of her mouth.  
"She took the sea route and possibly has some people with her, if you say she went to the harbour and with some 'castle staff'. How long has she been plotting this?" He asked, and his questions felt like a slap to her face. He had no reason to trust her when her mother had been one of the people involved in the attacks, but did her past loyalty to the royal family, to Pauline and to him account for nothing?  
"I told you I know nothing more, milord. Wouldnt I have told you or Pauline if I knew, or tried to stop her?" She answered coldly and averted her gaze to the lake, watching the still water reflect the greenery around.  
"I apologize. I trust you, Saoirse."  
"Doesnt seem like it." She muttered and was sure he had not heard her, but suddenly, she felt his hand on top of hers, lifting it up from the sandy surface, and his thumb caressing her knuckles.  
"I do. I dont just give my daggers away, my feisty little bird. Let us head back to the castle before they notice I am gone." He said and standing, pulled her up too.  
Her heart soared upon hearing the endearment from him and she tried to stop the scarlet of her blush from showing, but she knew it was futile. Suddenly, the dagger in her pockets felt heavier and somehow colder, making its presence known and she let Timothee hold her hand the entire walk back to the castle.


	15. if only you knew

"Who are we telling about this?" Saoirse asked as soon as they reached the hind gates of the castle.  
Timothee had let go of her hand by then, not that she expected him to hold it even when anyone could see it, but she felt a bitter pang in her chest when that happened.  
"Do you want to be put in a cell? If my father gets to hear about your mother's involvement in this, he would hold you captive and use you as bait for her to return and spill secrets." He explained.  
The gates opened for them and she fell behind his step, momentarily embarrassed that she even broke the courtesies she was supposed to follow earlier. But recently with Timothee, she seemed to be unaware of everything else, and that was dangerous.  
"What do we do with this information then, my prince?" She asked.  
"We investigate." He said and when they reached his solar, he turned to look at her.  
"I apologize again for making it seem like I do not trust you. I really, do." He said.  
"I know. The dagger would never let me believe otherwise." She teased and he smiled.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The spectator's area filled to the brim quicker than Saoirse had expected it to. She stood by Pauline in the waiting box, watching as the jousters' squires readied them. The princess watched with a keener interest for Prince Ansel was to be jousting tonight as well, and although she knew he was able enough to get out of it without getting himself seriously injured, she still got worried on his account.  
The entire arena waited for Timothee to arrive so that the matches could begin in his honour. The sky was a cloudless, clear navy blue affair and torches lit up the arena grounds. The master-at-arms was busy shouting instructions and making sure every participant was supplied with a club and horse of their choice for the jousting.  
The crowd roared up in a cheer when Timothee walked into the arena with the King and Queen. They stood in the middle and as the King raised his sword, the arena fell silent.  
"Tonight," The king began.  
"I thank all of you, for being here and either spectating or taking part in this jousting fest, held in the honour of the coronation of my son and your to-be King, Prince Timothee, let the jousting begin!" The King declared and the crowd cheered once again as they walked to their high seats, with the royal guards at their flanks.  
The master-at-arms announced the first match to be between Prince Timothee's cousin, Prince Alistair and an esteemed knight from the kingsguard of the King of Cantershire. The participants in no time, emerged from their pavilions and as the master signalled, spurred their horses into motion, trying desperately to unhorse the other.  
Their match was short-lived as within minutes, Prince Alistair had swung his club at the knight's head in an almost death-blow and unhorsed him.  
A series of matches followed, Prince Ansel fighting and winning a couple of them, looking up at Pauline in her pavilion every time he was victorious, as if to make sure she had seen it and it was only when she smiled at him that he really seemed to acknowledge his victory, and move out of the arena.  
The final match was announced between Prince Ansel and the Prince of Abisland, who was a tall, burly fellow, easily twice the size of Ansel and Pauline held on to Saoirse's hand tighter, her nails digging in the maiden's skin.  
"Make it stop, Saoirse." She whispered.  
"You know I can't but trust the Prince, he is going to be fine." She replied and right as she said it, their match began.  
Ansel seemed to be struggling, keeping off the hard blows of the other prince and once or twice he was very close to falling off his horse and losing.  
His own blows seemed as if feather touches to the other one who hardly moved, or seemed bothered by anything that the Prince did.  
Ansel's cry of pain pierced the arena when he got hit square in the back with his opponent's club but fortunately did not fall off. Next to Saoirse, Pauline's eyes teared up and all she wanted was to jump into the arena and lead Ansel away from that beastly creature he was made to joust with.  
She got up and before Saoirse could hold her back, Pauline got out of her box and walked the short distance to where Timothee and her parents were seated.  
"Timmy, he will kill Ansel, make this stop!" She aggressively whispered in his ear.  
"You need to sit down. Ansel is better than that." He replied.  
"This is not fair! They are no physical match to be jousting!"  
"The battlefield sees no physical matches. If you're powerful enough, you live." Timothee spoke in a voice that made it clear he wanted no more of this.  
Pauline got back to her seat, biting her lip in worry. Down in the arena, Ansel was still not in the position of having a upper hand but holding up somehow. The crowd's cheers had mostly turned in favour of the Prince of Abisland and Pauline closed her eyes in prayer.  
At some point, Saoirse thought, we all turn to believe in the supernatural, that one power beyond us and our comprehension when we have tried everything we could, but the situations are just not working out for us. She couldn't help but smile at Pauline and the devotion she had for the Prince she loved so well.  
You know you really are in it deep when they find a place in your prayers or whatever you believe in more than life.  
Ansel's forehead was bleeding from narrowly escaping a blow to the head, but not being lucky enough to dodge the points of the weapon which teared his skin. He was breathing hard and the last thing he wanted was to lose to somebody when his princess was watching.  
He gave a final battle cry before lunging at his opponent with all the force could muster up, and by some miracle and happy chances, aligned to help Ansel, the opponent did not see this one coming as he had seen all his other moves.  
Ansel's club landed squarely on his opponent's jaw, just as his horse neighed and kicked at the other one. The combined force of the prince and the animal, threw both the opponent and his ride off of their feet and into the dusty ground.  
The whole arena broke out in a cheer of Prince Ansel's name and the first person Ansel looked up to, through sweat and blood, was Pauline in her booth. The princess, with eyes filled to the brim with tears of joy, blew him a kiss and he made his way to the King in his high seat to receive his badge of honour.  
The King commanded Timothee to put the badge on Ansel's chest and present him with the champion's sword since it was him in whose honour the jousting was held.  
"You better meet my sister right after." He spoke in a low tone so only Ansel could hear him, as he pinned the badge to his chest.  
"I will, my lord." He said, looking down to hide his blush.  
Before he could give Ansel the sword however, a man's shriek resounded through the arena and Timothee watched a soldier, fall to the ground from one of the patrolling booths nearest to him, his bow and arrow which had been pointed in Timothee's direction, realised, dropping after him.  
What startled him even more was his own dagger, sticking out from the back of the traitor and he rushed to the ground to retrieve the weapon before anyone else could see it.  
His eyes went up to Pauline's booth to see Saoirse breathing heavier, her eyes set on the fallen soldier as her hands shook and Pauline stared at her best friend in bewilderment.  
Saoirse had saved his life yet again.


	16. chivalry

"How does this keep happening? There is definitely someone from inside the castle involved. Someone important." The King of Brookwood suggested at the private dinner with King Marc.  
"I feel that is true. Who killed the traitor though?" The Queen asked.  
"Nobody saw who did but God bless him." King Marc mumbled over his cup of spiced wine.  
"These instances are common when the transfer of power is near. Foes all around try to grab at the last chances of seizing power." The Queen of Brookwood spoke.  
"I agree, my lady. How is Ansel?" The King inquired.  
"He has been doing better, Your Grace. His wounds have been tended to, and Pauline has been really kind in offering to change his bandages now and then."  
"When do we let them know that we wish to see them married?" Nicole asked, smiling, revelling in the bliss of having her daughter being married to a suitor she highly approves of.  
"After the coronation. They would be truly happy to know it after we sort this mess." Her husband said and the others in the company agreed.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Saoirse sat by the lake. It was more serene somehow during the night than it was in the day.  
The full moon reflected in the almost inky black water and she let her fingertips submerge into it, the coldness making her numb but giving her something to feel. She had only ever killed twice in her life- first when the castle was attacked and the second tonight. And she hated it.  
It took away every shred of her that was human and left her feeling empty and deserted.  
She knew she had to do it or lose the prince. Her eyes had thankfully landed on the treacherous soldier in time to predict his move and act. Despite that, she had taken a life.  
Pauline had been all grateful to her in her chamber later and professed how glad she was to have Saoirse in her life, but Saoirse felt terrible on getting praised for killing somebody, even though it was for a noble cause. He must have had a family waiting for him back home. The princess promised to tell no one about it upon Saoirses request and then soon after, Saoirse had run to her sanctuary- this lake.  
She missed her mother and terribly so, and she could talk to nobody about it. She was not really sure if Timothee was the kind to listen to such things, and why would he listen to her? She was, after all, a serving girl and nothing more. The weight of the whole situation was so much that she felt constantly tired, and she had not had a good nights sleep ever since this nuisance began.  
Why did her mother have to be a traitor? Where had she gone and why would she lie to Saoirse? If only had Saoirse had known about her plans in time, she would have talked her mother out of it, or at least she would have tried her best, but that was out of the question now. Her mother had sailed off, possibly to where the masters of this cruel design to assassinate the prince were seated. She did not even know if she would see her mother again.  
What was even scarier was that the entire castle now seemed unsafe. Anyone could be on the side of the enemy- a soldier, a serving girl, a cook, a stable boy. She had been there when the King ordered his own kingsguard to conduct spontaneous raids in every nook and corner of the castle and putting in the dungeon cells, anyone who seemed suspicious.  
She hoped that when they checked her mothers room; they find nothing or the truth the Prince and herself had so carefully concealed from the world would be laid bare for everyone to see and if Timothee was right, she would be the bait, or rather one of their baits, to get to the enemy.  
She got up before she could delve more into the realm of profound sadness and longing which she had neither the time nor energy for. Carefully, she made her way out of the woods and got admitted into the castle.  
When she was back at her room, hardly had she removed her cloak when a loud series of knocks sounded at her door.  
"SAOIRSE!" She heard the King yell her name from outside.  
Mortal fear swelled up in her chest as her mind raced to search for any crime she had committed to invite the wrath of His Majesty.  
She opened the door, and the King barged in, his tall frame intimidating and angry.  
"WHERE IS YOUR MOTHER?" He bellowed, and Saoirse took cautious steps back as he advanced.  
"I-I do not know, Your Grace," She stuttered, utterly scared for her life but trying her best to keep as composed as she could.  
Suddenly, he gripped her by the throat and all the air in the world did not seem enough for her. Her breathing appeared as if it would completely stop at any point and he pushed her up against the wall.  
"I will not ask again. Where is she?!" He yelled.  
"She said she does not know! Get away from her!" A familiar voice yelled back and suddenly, the hands around her throat were wrenched away from her and Timothee came into view.  
Before she could hit the floor, he caught her and let her lean into him as they sat on the floor. She wanted to stand, but she was too physically and emotionally overwhelmed to do anything. Tears fell down her cheeks uncontrollably, and she was aware she was wetting his cloak.  
"Get away from there, Timothee! She is dangerous!" He shouted.  
"No she is not! She killed that assassin tonight." He said through gritted teeth and against his chest, Saoirse could hear his heart hammering.  
"How do you know?" The King asked.  
"I saw. And her mother is just one of the people who betrayed their liege. There are more powerful ones out there you should yell after rather than her." He replied.  
"You dont know what you are talking about. There are facts and events you do not know of."  
"The facts and events being?" Timothee asked, and Saoirse could feel his irritation coming off of him in waves.  
"I do not think it necessary to tell you that. Guards! Put this wench in a cell!" The King commanded.  
"I will kill every single one of them if they try to touch her." Timothee warned.  
"And I will kill myself if you do not let her go." The King drew out his sword and placed it near his pulse.  
"But Father? Please put that away, you have never been the sort to react so strangely." Timothee tried reasoning with him.  
"If only you knew things, you'd put a sword to her heart yourself. Let her go, Timothee. You know I do not lie."  
"I am supposed to be King after you! Should I not know everything about the realm and its history? What is it you cannot tell me? You have always told me things!" He said, sounding almost like a child by the end.  
"In due time, you will. For now- choose her or me."  
And Timothee let go of her while the guard picked her up roughly by the arms and dragged a wailing Saoirse to the cells.  
She turned her head back a last time, though, to look at Timothee, and he was staring right back at her. His eyes held the sorrow and guilt of a century, but there was something else in them- a promise.  
Saoirse closed her eyes and let her tears fall more freely as her feet and knees scraped on the rough stone floor to the dungeons.  
Author's note:  
I hope you're all doing well and please feel free to hit my dm's up if you ever need someone to vent to. I'd rather listen to you than let you be morose and feel unwanted. Anyway, thanks so much for reading, voting and commenting and helping this story grow. You're all such angels to me and if you ever feel low, just know that you, Timothee and Saoirse breathe the same air and are made of the same stardust :)  
Going to sign off with a few awesome lines from Max Ehrmann, "You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars, you have a right to be here and whether or not it is clear to you, the universe is unfolding as it should."  
love you x  
Smriti


	17. release

Saoirse had known that cells were supposed to be dark and frightening but it would be so desolate, she had not known. She wondered if Pauline knew about her arrest by this time, she must have. Timothee must have told her.  
The guard in front of her cell was more than that of any other cell in this part of the dungeon. She curled up her knees and as a stray tear left her eye, she felt a strange chill creep up her spine. How long was she going to be here? Would they kill her? Surely, Pauline would not allow that, or is she helpless too?  
She bit the back of her hand to keep herself from crying further. Her head already hurt like it had been struck by a thousand maces and she did not want to add on to it. Her throat felt dry and when she asked one of the guards outside her cell for water, they only kicked at her bars and told her to keep shut.  
It would have been easier for her to spend time in jail had she anything to feel guilty for, but heaven knew how frustrating it felt to be punished for no reason or worse still, in place of somebody else- not that she wanted her mother to be in her place.  
All she wanted at the moment was to talk to her, have her explain every single thing, give her reasons to justify everything Saoirse saw happening. She knew her mother knows more than anyone can imagine. She always had. She had shown Saoirse every secret passage in the castle and the first time she had held a sword, her mother had shown her how to swing it.  
The woman had always kept a low profile, careful to not attract too much attention to herself, but still she would get frequent visits from the King and His Grace had never seemed to know the names of any of the castle staff, but he had always known her mother's and Saoirse's. What is it that the King and her knew and the world didn't?  
Her head shot up when she heard the entrance to her cell unlock.  
"Has she been given anything to eat?" She heard Timothee speak, his back facing her.  
"The King did not order us to it milord." A guard responded.  
"Bring some turkey and wine from my chamber here. I will eat with her." He commanded and turned to her finally.  
Her heart sped up like it usually did around him, but this time, it was accompanied by an unexplainable warmth. He made her way to where she was sitting and took a seat beside her, shrugging off his cloak when he saw her shivering slightly and covering her shoulders with it.  
"That should keep you warm enough, if not I can send for some nice wools for you." He offered.  
"Thankyou, my lord. I do not need the wools." Saoirse spoke in an almost whisper.   
He looked at her with an intensity that would have made her cower in intimidation were it usual times, but at this point, she could only muster up the strength to remain unmoving and let him look for whatever it was he was seeking from her demeanour.  
"Show me your neck, I'm sure he must have at least bruised you." He spoke with a softness Saoirse did not know he was capable of.  
"It's fine, it will go away."  
"It's not. I insist."  
She gave in and bared her neck covered with angry, purple finger-shaped marks. All of a sudden, she felt his finger touch her bruised skin and she closed her eyes, unwilling to let him see her pain.  
"Bring some ice!" He commanded the guards outside and Saoirse watched as one of them left to carry the orders out.  
"I don't even know where to begin to apologize for this-"  
"Trust me, you don't need to. It was not you who did this and it is only natural to doubt a traitor's relatives. After all, his only son's life is at stake." She reassured him.  
"About that, I had wanted to thank you earlier and that was why I came to your room, but I found father there. Thankyou for saving me."  
"And you saved me, we are even." She said and gave him a weak smile which he returned.  
The guards returned with food and the ice Timothee had sent for. He wrapped some in a soft cloth and handed it to her. She hissed at the cold when she pressed it into her neck but it got better.  
"You need to hold it there for a while." He instructed when Saoirse began removing it.  
"But you have not eaten yet, have you? Don't wait for me, go on. I will eat later."  
"You know, I am something of a chivalrous man myself. It's about time you start believing that." He said and she smiled genuinely for the first time that day.  
He drew their plates nearer and cutting out a bite, held it up to her. She was so shocked upon the prospect of him, the heir of Elmcaster willing to feed her that she couldn't move.  
"If you don't open your mouth soon, I will give up on my chivalry." He joked, bringing her out of her trance, and she accepted the bite of turkey, smiling wider and struggling to contain her blush.  
He did not eat, even upon Saoirse's insistence, before he had made sure she had been fed all that was on her plate.  
They sat there, trying to talk about anything except what was going on for a change over wine. Saoirse had never known that behind his cold, composed exterior, he had such a great capacity for humour and as she snuggled into his cloak for warmth, she could not help but be intoxicated by how petrifyingly good he smelled.  
"It is late, my lord. You should leave before they find you here." She suggested.  
"Do you not want me here?" He asked, his green eyes shining in the light from the torches outside.  
"Of course, I do. It has been a comfort and an absolute honour to spend time with you but I am worried about how this will go down with the others if they were to know."  
"I do not care about how this will go down with anyone but you. If you don't want me here, I will leave but I planned on staying the night. Look, I brought a blanket." He said and pulled a blanket, one Saoirse had made, from behind him.  
"Where did you get this?" She asked, recognizing the blanket as her gift to Pauline.  
"Let's just say that Pauline was devastated when I told her about you. Since, she could not come down here herself, she supplied me amply. But God, did she put up a fight." He said and chuckled in remembrance.  
"When will I be out?" She asked and Timothee's face fell.  
"I don't know but I will do something about it, I promise." He said with such confidence that Saoirse could not help but trust his words.  
"My lord, there is a letter for you." A guard said, knocking at the bars of the cell but never looking their way.  
"Pass it in." Timothee ordered and the guard slipped the letter inside the cell.


	18. don't go

"Some movements have been noted in the neighbouring isles, Your Grace. They are arming their borders heavily." Hawklin informed the court, having read and analysed the intelligence reports from the spies.  
"Suddenly? Are there barbarian attacks again?" The King asked.  
"No sign of barbarians anywhere. And some heavy ships have been seen coming from the south."  
The King sighed, his hold on the hilt of his sword growing tighter. The common reasons to arm oneself were apparently not holding true and that was not good news.  
"How far are those ships from our coast?" He inquired.  
"About a month away, Your Grace. They have been looting and plundering wherever they've harboured. I suggest being on our guard too."  
"They would be a fool to think they can even touch the lands of Elmcaster with malicious intents and not be sent to the gates of hell. Increase guard nonetheless." The King ordered.  
"That is another issue, You Grace. We need more recruits and the kingdom doesn't have enough young men for the watch." The Prime Minister informed.  
"Hire sellswords, train green boys, take disabled into the forgery and send able men from the forgery into the army, do whatever, but get the guard."  
"Yes, Your Grace."  
The Prime Minister then took the King's leave to carry out the orders and go about his business. Timothee walked into the court, the courtiers rising in respect and the prince asked them to return to their seats before taking his own near his father.  
"Where were you?" The King demanded.  
"At dinner." Timothee replied coldly, not wishing to be in the presence of his father especially after what he had done previously during the day.  
"Weren't you supposed to be dining with Prince Ansel and Pauline? You were absent when I went to see them."  
"If the court has been summoned to discuss my day, I can tell you better things to discuss father." He sassed.  
"I need to be alone with him, esteemed courtiers." The King declared and the everyone but Timothee left the court.  
"You will never talk to me like that again." He said through gritted teeth.  
"And you can violate the safety of a woman and shove her up a wall, bruise her neck and yell profanities all you like?"  
"She is the daughter of a traitor." He reasoned.  
"Exactly. She is the daughter of a traitor, not a traitor. The poor girl has been nothing but loyal to our family and is this how we express our gratitude?"  
"What are you implying?"  
"That you release her this second." Timothee stated.  
"You make me doubt in this moment whether you will make a good King. You have no idea how much these little leverages can cost a kingdom."  
Timothee's heart lurched at that. All his life it was drilled into his mind that he was born to be a king, that the purpose of his life was to serve his people and be the best ruler they can ever hope for. To hear his own father openly doubt that, stirred a strange insecurity in him that he was not sure would go away for a long while.  
Never before this moment had he doubted if he would make a good King at all. He had always believed that if he was vigilant, just, merciful and balanced- it would all work out for him. But even though he had been sticking to those principles now, his father had made him ponder whether his beliefs were correct or even enough?  
"She saved my life father. Twice." He managed to let out, trying his hardest to not give an impression of how disturbed he had been.  
His father got up and walked up to him. His face did not give away his thoughts but Timothee knew he had won the battle when the King sighed and looked away.  
"She will be under constant observation." The King stated his condition.  
"I promise to personally undertake that. It is my responsibility if anything happens on her account once she is released."  
"She can be out tomorrow morning, but she won't serve your sister anymore."  
"That is okay, Your Grace. She can be in my service instead." Timothee suggested.  
"And give her the chance to kill you? Never. She will be deployed in the Holy Tower where she shall assist the priests."  
"But-"  
"No counter conditions or she doesn't get out. You may leave." The King ordered and Timothee complied, grateful that he was at least able to secure Saoirse her freedom.  
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a/n: I know that was short and I am tremendously sorry for it. I've just been busy with some schoolwork, grade 12 is another sob story in a pandemic. I hope you're all keeping well though. Please vote and comment and help the story grow! Take care x


	19. drop me off

"Saoirse! Wake up!" Pauline whispered aggressively from outside of Saoirse's cell.  
As Saoirse opened her eyes with much difficulty, she became aware of just how heavy her head felt and the refusal of every limb of hers to cooperate with her.  
"P-Pauline?" Saoirse managed to speak and scooted closer to the bars so she could talk to her mistress and best friend.  
She had never been more happy to see the princess and her eyes welled up with fresh tears as she realised how Pauline had to probably sneak in here with great difficulty- all for her.  
"What time is it?" Saoirse asked.  
"The sun might rise any moment now. Did you get the things I sent you?" She asked.  
"Yes, thankyou so much for your kindness. The blankets, the food- everything made my night here so much better. Thank your brother on my behalf for bringing them to me."  
"Timmy brought those to you? He said that he'd send for a servant." Pauline spoke, confusion pooling in her eyes initially but then realisation hit her.  
"Oh, I-I didn't know. He's so kind." Saoirse replied, trying desperately to hide her flaming cheeks.  
"Yeah. Definitely very, very kind to you." Pauline teased and put her hands through the spaces between the bars so Saoirse could hold them.  
"I bring some good and bad news, which one first?"  
"The good one."  
"You will be set free in a few hours!" Pauline declared and Saoirse felt hope bubbling in her chest like it had never before. Just a night ago she had been worrying herself sick, constantly thinking about if she would ever see the world outside or not, if after a while the castle would forget about her, but this news hit her like a much needed breath of fresh air, taking away a lot of her anxieties.  
She clutched Pauline's hands tighter as a few tears slithered down her cheeks, thankfully the cell being dark enough for the princess to not notice.  
"I thought the day would never come, I was so scared-" Saoirse managed to croak out, unable to control her sobs now.  
"I would have never let that happen. You know that." Pauline reassured.  
Saoirse fervently nodded her head, wiping her tears on her sleeve.  
"The bad one?"  
"Lord, I don't know how to tell you this."  
"I'm listening,"  
"They are shifting your services to the Holy Tower. You cannot work with me anymore." Pauline informed in a sad voice that almost broke in the end, but the princess held herself together.  
"They can't! Can the prince do nothing?" Saoirse exclaimed, physically feeling an ache in her heart.  
"It was because of him that they're setting you out in the first place and this was father's condition. You will not be near the royal family and they will keep you under constant observation."  
"But I did nothing, I swear-" Saoirse whispered, heartbroken. She knew no amount of convincing anybody is going to work for her. The blood was on her hands even if she wasn't the one who drew it out. Separation from Pauline was just as much a prison for her as was sitting in this cell and there was no way anybody would understand that.  
"I know, Saoirse. You're innocent, fuck it, you're even a hero. You have legitimately saved lives and I am so ashamed that my father treats you like this for it."  
Saoirse wanted to tell her that she did not need to be ashamed, that it was going to be fine and they would soon be reunited, but she could not bring herself to say something that she could not really believe in. Wasn't that the case with all forms of consolation? You just weren't strong enough to do it when miserable.  
"I would come to pray more often, it seems. Everyday, I promise." Pauline said when Saoirse hadn't spoken for a while.  
She smiled a little at her best friend and exchanging a few more words, Pauline left, promising to be there when they released her.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The princess did keep true to her promise for when they released Saoirse from the prison a little before afternoon, she was there, holding Prince Ansel's hand in hers, trying her best not to cry as the King looked down upon her with suspicion, the Queen mirroring his expression but softer- as if she didn't know the entire story but decided to go along with her husband like 'good' wives were supposed to.  
"I want to accompany her to the Holy Tower, Your Grace. I owe her that much." Timothee said, stepping in front of his father and looking him in the eyes.  
The King nodded his approval and advised him to take a few knights with him, to which Timothee agreed at that moment but dismissed the men later when they got out of the castle grounds on horseback.  
"Is the pain any better?" Timothee asked her as they rode side by side through the forest.  
The Tower was a bit further off from the castle and normally one could reach there in an hour but Timothee preferred going slower this time.  
"It's almost gone, my lord." She replied, trying to look anywhere but at him, afraid that he would see the silly feelings she had been harbouring for him.  
"Don't 'my lord' me. I am just Timothee." To you. He added mentally.  
"It's gone, Timothee." Saoirse corrected, smiling at him and then looking away right after.  
"Good girl."  
They talked about a lot of things on their journey- from the happenings in the castle to childhood memories they remembered. Saoirse was surprised at just how much Timothee recalled. At some point she was convinced that he had forgotten all about it and that the only thing he remembered from their shared past was her name.  
When they got closer and the Tower was visible, Timothee slowed his horse to a stop, making Saoirse follow suit.  
"What's wrong?" She asked.  
They were still in the thick of the jungle, away from humanity and she wondered what it was that he could have wanted here.  
"Can we just stay here for a while?" He asked, dismounting from his horse and sitting under a pine tree and getting down, she took her seat beside him.  
He took her hand in his, taking her by surprise and made gentle circles on the back with his thumb as he looked down at his feet.  
"Don't go." He said, finally looking up and into her eyes, emerald ones melting into the sapphires.  
Her breath hitched and all she could do was stare back at him, unable to form a comprehensive answer.  
"I wish I could do that," She whispered and the next thing she knew, she was in his arms again.  
He hugged Saoirse to himself, turning his face to rest in the crook of her neck as he felt her slender hands snake into his hair. He had never been able to fathom why but being near her had always been so easy and comforting and he felt like he finally belonged. He felt as though he could finally let go for a moment and that he did not have to be a certain version of himself for her to see him. He did not have to be the ever-valiant crowned prince of Elmcaster or a dutiful son and brother.  
It was okay to be Timothee, just Timothee.  
a/n: we are getting there fam :P  
A huge thanks to everyone reading. You're all so kind and supportive and I'm always praying for you. A special shoutout to for being the most awesome person ever <3  
Smriti.


	20. think about me

As Timothee's warm breath hit her tender neck, Saoirse could not help but shiver at their proximity. As shocked as she had been upon Timothee's strange request about her not leaving, she could not deny that it had warmed her heart.  
Before she knew it, Timothee had withdrawn from their embrace, only to look at her.  
"You'll let me visit, won't you?" He whispered and she could only nod a promise before he leaned in.  
Their breaths mingled and his eyes stole a glance at her lips before they closed the little distance between them. Saoirse was not sure if it was her who had initiated it or him, but as their lips met, unmoving for a while, just testing the waters, hoping it was okay for the other- she could not believe that it was really happening. All those times she had dreamt of this moment and coaxed herself for thinking too much, had not been in complete vain.  
He cupped her face gently in his hands as their lips moved against each other, in more synchronicity than anything Saoirse had ever felt. The kiss grew more urgent as her hands formed into fists in his lush hair and she gave a soft tug, just enough to make him sigh in pleasure and in longing. She could think of nothing but how soft his lips felt against hers and how each and every fibre of hers went up into flames upon his touch.  
That very intoxicating scent of his that made her senses run riots of absolute frenzy was so close to her now- it was on her and it was all she could breathe.  
The taste of him was so unimaginably good- like the sweetest honey and apples and something more, that she feared it would become an addiction if this went on any longer.  
They parted, solely because it would not have been humanly possible to hold their breaths any more and Timothee kissed her forehead, gently caressing her hair.  
"I'm sorry, I just find it impossible to not be close to you now." He confessed, sadness dissolved in his tone like salt in water.  
"There's nothing to feel sorry about. I'm glad we did it, even if we might never do it again."  
"I don't want to never do it again." He said, making her crack a smile at the longing in his voice.  
She leaned in and left a small kiss on his lips before getting up.  
"Come, drop me off at the Tower."  
It did not take long after that for them to reach the High Tower and with a last, few stolen kisses that left Saoirse breathless, they parted.  
Timothee promised to come as often as he could and she told him that she would be waiting. She watched him ride away back to the castle on the soft mud road that separated the secluded place of worship from the wilderness and the rest of the Isles, still unable to believe that the events of the day were true, that Timothee might really feel for her in the way that she had always desired.  
As she turned to go inside the Tower and join the ranks of the serving maids to the gods of the kingdom, she sighed, thinking about how she at least had visits from the prince and his sister to look forward to.  
For the initial days of her time in the Tower, she had been handed cleaning duties by one of the priestesses and no matter how much she detested the task, she knew it was much better than living in a cell. As she picked up a mop, she felt distinctly aware of being watched- by the staff around her, the priests and priestesses and even sometimes the stone effigies of the gods.  
Even the quarters that she had been assigned was closer to the center of the tower, in the vicinity of anyone who wanted to come knock and had paper-thin walls. She bit her tongue to keep from complaining about the vigilance and the virtual lack of privacy but she knew that it was either this or worse things she could not even dream of.  
*  
As Timothee walked his way to the arena, already terribly late for his promised fencing hour with Prince Ansel, he could not help but think about what happened in the woods. He never thought that he would do it but separation and the prospect of it made men do strange things.  
Even in a little while, Saoirse had managed to hold his heart and pluck its strings like a harp in music, and he had let her. For once, he did not have it in himself to hold back from letting himself be taken care of, and he could not help but feel his heart flip whenever Saoirse displayed even the most miniscule gesture of bravery and protectiveness- all for him.  
He had many a men to lay down their lives for him if need be, but he knew that they only did it because he was the heir to a certain throne and was to carry the weight of its crown. Nobody did it selflessly and out of love like Saoirse did, not that he wanted anyone to die on his account. But it was strangely comforting to know that there were people out there who loved you enough.  
As much as he wanted to run out of the castle, mount his horse and ride back to her, he knew that he would have to stay within the cold, stone walls of this place he called home. It was the best for both of them.  
For the rest of the day, he sparred match after match with the guest princes of other kingdoms, not losing even once. In fact, he could even have called it easy to have won from most of them. But Ansel was a different story of course, you could not just win an entire jousting tournament without being at least a tough match.  
But Timothee had managed to bring the Prince of Brookwood to his knees as well and after that, no one dared venture out on the field to challenge him to a friendly match.  
a/n: there. they did it. also, I was binge watching The King and oof, Timothee really does know how to work a blade (and he looks smoking in an armor). Do not forget to vote and comment! love you x  
Smriti.


	21. better things

"Have you been able to solve the recruits problem, Hawklin?" The King asked.  
"I did some reshuffling Your Grace and the situation is stable at least, if not good."  
"Make it good. The best. We simply cannot afford to risk the kingdom in these tender times."  
"Yes, Your Grace." Hawklin replied.  
The King approached the Great Hall, where all his esteemed guests had assembled for dinner. There was chatter and mirth all around and for a moment, the King felt as if all the peril in the world was only his. The gods did not give these men and women any part of it.  
The royalties greeted him as he made his way to the head of the table, stopping on the way to ruffle the hair of a few young princes and princesses nestled in the laps of their mothers.  
He found his son sitting on the seat nearest to his on the table, in conversation with his mother and from the looks of it- the Queen was not being too gentle on him. He was aware of just how much his son might feel the heaviness of this situation, what with the anxieties that come with coronation magnified by the threat of enemies but that was what his life was going to look like after he graced the crown.  
Kings were never at peace.  
As he took his place, his wife smiled at him and serving maids readied his plate- oysters and spiced mushrooms making him realise how hungry he had been.  
Beside him, Timothee sipped on wine, his cheeks a pleasant blush, physically declaring that he was not entirely sober.  
"What are you chiding our son about?" He asked the Queen.  
"I had asked him to meet with some lovely ladies in the Ballroom tonight, but proving he is your son, he absolutely did not listen to me." She declared, a mocking glint in her tone as Timothee tried to zone them out by politely nodding and smiling at anyone who greeted him from across the table.  
"He is a man grown now, he can do as he likes. If he fancies someone I am sure you would not need to push him to talk to the fortunate princess." The King spoke and Timothee flinched.  
"Does it have to be a princess?" He asked, speaking for the first time since entering the hall.  
"What do you mean? Of course it has to be a lady of high birth at least!" The Queen replied as though stating something as obvious as the direction of sunrise.  
Up until this moment, he had not even considered the fact that Saoirse not being a high-born would be a problem for them. He had thought that once this was all over and he had been crowned, he could freely be with her, the taint of being a traitor's blood washed away from her conscience.  
Suddenly, he slammed his glass on the table, but not loud enough to draw everyone's attention and getting up, he strode out of the hall.  
The King and Queen were as puzzled as ever upon his sudden departure and sensing Timothee's distress and that of her own parents, Pauline took leave of them from across the table, promising to calm her brother down and bring him back to the hall.  
She ran after him, calling out his name but he seemed to not hear her. His steps staggered a bit as the alcohol in his system made itself known. He rushed inside his own chamber and before he could order the guards to not let anyone in, Pauline clambered inside.  
She took in her brother's dishevelled form, his curls falling into his eyes and touching the corner of his lips as he sprawled out on a turquoise velvet diwan.  
"Go away." He told her but she only walked up to him and sat near the edge of the diwan, taking his feet into her lap and removing his shoes.  
"I won't. Why did you run back here?"  
"None of your business, Pauline. I really do not want to say things I do not mean. Just go." He almost pleaded but his sister would not budge.  
"When you were younger, you used to tell me everything. All your childish fantasies and sorrows... You would always run up to me whenever you were hurt or a toy of yours broke. You always believed I would make it all better. I am still your big sister, Timmy. You can talk to me." She said gently and it was all it took for something in Timothee to break as he sat up, only to lie down with his head in his sister's lap while she stroked his lush hair in comfort.  
"You've always been the perfect child. You did everything mother and father asked of you. I could never do it. I always diverged. You even love the right person, someone they approve of." He said almost in a whisper and Pauline's heart stopped.  
Never had it once occurred to her that Timothee, who everyone seemed to love so much that they worshipped the very ground he walked on, would be comparing himself with her. He always seemed to have it all together and looked so comfortable in his skin that she never doubted the fact that he was in a place of great self esteem, but she had been stupidly ignorant and wrong.  
"Well you can marry Ansel if that's what you think the right thing to do is." She joked and earned a chuckle from him as he playfully slapped her leg.  
"But in all seriousness, what is this about? Have you fallen for someone?" She asked.  
"As if you don't know." Timothee spoke and felt heat surge all through him, just even thinking about Saoirse.  
This was the first time he was even talking about it in the open and as scary as it was, he knew he could trust Pauline.  
"Oh Timmy," She sighed and planted a kiss on his head.  
"Saoirse is one of finest women out there." She declared.  
"I know. But our parents wouldn't approve of her, she's not high born. How is that even supposed to be related to whether she is good for me?"  
"You know they cannot think about your good. They have to think about the kingdom's first. That is our sad reality, dear brother." She replied.  
Timothee felt tears prick his eyes but he wiped them on the sleeve of his cloak before one could fall.  
"She always thinks about my good first." He whispered.  
"I know, Saoirse is lovely in that way. She always thinks about others first. Especially you."  
"And also you." Timothee said, smiling softly.  
"And also me."  
They did not speak anything for a while, just sitting there, letting the reality of things hit them both- Timothee more brutally than Pauline.  
It was strange how Timothee had never had to worry about falling for somebody before. He slept around with the choicest women to his heart's content but his heart wouldn't even so much as notice them and their charms.  
But with Saoirse, everything felt infinitely different. It seemed as though she had been born only to be the living, breathing personification of the defiance of everything Timothee was made to believe as true. But at the same time, she also embodied every single desire of his that he dared not voice out loud.  
That night he dreamt of her clear, blue eyes and slender fingers, entwined with his own and when he woke up in the dead of darkness, his breeches felt tighter than usual.  
a/n: how are you all holding up? Let me know how you liked the chapter in the comments and do not forget to vote! Bless every single one of you <3  
Smriti.


	22. metal

Timothee's horse seemed more jittery than usual, as though mirroring his own anxiety. As the black stallion trotted through the woods, neighing at every small squirrel or monkey they passed, Timothee could not help but second guess his decision to consider Saoirse as a lover.  
He had never in his life defied his parents, the system and the conventions and even the thought of having to do it at some point made bile rise inside of him. He breathed in the musky forest air and looking at the tall tower looming in the distance, reminded himself that he did not have to think about those just at this moment.  
His guards waited with his horse outside as he dismounted and adjusted his sword at his waist. He made his way inside the main, double glass doors that were painted with aquamarine figures of the gods and their runes to enter a hall with the ceilings higher than any room he had ever entered, chandeliers doing their illuminating job of providing the place with the softest, most holy glow.  
"My Prince," He heard the High Priest exclaim, as the short, old man with a snowy beard that touched his belly, made to sept down the altar to greet Timothee.  
"Stay there sir, don't trouble your knees." Timothee said, making the priest stop in his tracks as he walked the distance to him in long, swift strides.  
"May the gods bless you, I did have some pain in them today." The old man said, holding his hands out to take Timothee's sword and dagger from him.  
As the ritual commanded, one could not pray with a weapon at hand. In fact, weapons had to be blessed as well, so the gods gave them precision and unity with the bearer.  
When Timothee only handed him the sword, the priest frowned in confusion.  
"Is there no dagger today, my lord?" Timothee smiled, knowing full well where his dagger was, and he would rather it stayed there.  
"No, only good old Edge." The prince replied and kneeled before the seven deities- Wisdom, Strength, Mercy, Judgement, Healing, Wit and Courage- his kingdom's gods, his gods.  
The priest beside him unsheathed his sword and bathed it with milk and honey.  
so it never killed the innocent as milk and granted sweet justice like honey. Timothee repeated mentally, the words of his grandmother, who had never been shy in educating him about their religion and rituals.  
The priest then cleaned it with water and wiping it, handed it to Timothee for the last part of the ritual.  
He took Edge by the hilt and without even flinching, sliced a bit of the skin of his thumb open with the blade to draw out a few drops of hot, crimson blood.  
to seal the weapon with the blood of its owner first.  
The priest then took the sword back from Timothee and sheathing it, put it aside from where the prince could retrieve it later.  
As the prince prayed, the priest wandered off to give him his privacy, and it was only moments after, when he felt movement behind him.  
"It's only me." Saoirse said, when he turned around urgently, reaching for his sword. His heart gave a jolt as her pretty face came into view. She looked as though descended from heaven in the white clothes of the Holy Tower, her hair falling in waves around her face.  
"The gods must be generous, they answered my prayers almost instantly." He said, his shoulders easing and the breath returning in him.  
Saoirse looked down at her feet so as to not give away her blushing countenance, but Timothee knew. He always knew.  
"I didn't know you prayed for maidens to come meet you. Don't you have better things to ask of the gods?"  
"I can't think of a better thing than you." He answered and the sudden weightlessness that comes with the confession of a truth enlightened every cell of his.  
Saoirse felt dumbfounded. She had always only dreamed of such things happening to her, let alone with Timothee. She wanted to say so much but in the moment, all she was capable of doing was to stand and look at him as if he could not have said anything sweeter.  
"Come." He whispered and fixing his sword in its place, he led her out of the Tower.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Hi, so I wanted to thank each one of you for being so so so patient with me. I had exams and I usually do not pre-write chapters (I have learnt my lesson to start that now xd) so there was a massive gap of 10 days where I could not update no matter how much I wanted to.  
Thanks to everyone reading and following the story, please do not forget to vote and comment!  
Love you x  
Smriti.


	23. bride

The meadow behind the Tower never seemed like a naturally grown field of sunflowers. It was continuous but near its peripheries, it had a few clear patches. The entire place was so surreal that Timothee felt it belonged more in heaven than in the back of some old marble building.  
He had planned a little something for Saoirse and hoped they would not be interrupted here in the wilderness. The consequences were too bloody to imagine.  
When Saoirse saw the sword Pauline had gifted her lying in the grass, alongside some armour and darts, her eyes watered.  
"I... Thankyou." She almost whispered and pulled him into a fierce hug before she could overthink it.  
Timothee wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling her familiar shape fit into his own, like water droplets cohesively merging. She smelled of rosemary and incense and herself, as though while helping the priests bathe the gods in those holy things, she got blessed too.  
It was only when they parted that Timothee got a clearer look at her face and noticed the lines of red flaking her eyes, their usual icy fire dulled down.  
"Did you cry yourself to sleep last night?" He asked, wrapping a loose strand of her hair around his finger.  
"I just miss being in the castle. I even thought I heard Pauline call for me a few times but then I remembered things are not the same anymore. Will they go back to being the way they used to be?" She asked with such profound longing in her eyes that Timothee found it hard to not sneak her away from here and into the castle.  
He inhaled deeply, not knowing what to say. He sure was one of the most powerful people in the kingdom but there was little that he really had control over. Titles and birth just gave you the illusion of power, to really wield it was something supernatural.  
"I know it will get better and hopefully someday I'll take you back there." Timothee spoke, more reassuring himself than her. There were still so many intricate complexities to make sense of that it overwhelmed him to no end but he tried not to let Saoirse see that.  
She nodded and leaned up to meet his lips, her fingers finding their familiar place in his curls, as he kissed her back firmly, giving her the hope she seemed to have lost. In that moment, Timothee realised that no matter how layered and sophisticated matters were, one thing was simple- he could not stand her grief or pain and whenever she needed a shoulder, he always wanted to be there, every single time.  
"But thankyou for bringing these here." She said as soon as they disentangled from each other, the taste of his lips still lingering on hers.  
They were still just a breath apart and it was too hard not to lean in and kiss him again.  
"I could not have let them take away from you the one thing you so desperately love. Of course, I had to bring it here." He said, smiling sweetly down at her before kissing her a last time and drawing out his sword.  
"Disarm me." He commanded and the simple statement hung in the air. He knew that she had already disarmed him in ways nobody ever could, the sword was just a fabric of the whole thing and that scared him. But for once, he let himself be carried away by what came at him. The castle and the people and the royalty could fuck themselves. He was done being merely a political tool in the hands of people who never saw him as anything more.  
He watched her slip on the armor, envying the metal that got to touch her when he couldn't.  
They clashed and sparred till they were both sweaty and too tired to lift a limb, but none had ever felt more alive as they watched the sun go down. They had moved to sit amid the flowers, the grass tickling their ankles.  
"It means a lot. You coming here." She confessed.  
"I don't just come here for you."  
"Oh," Saoirse whispered, her heart sinking and mentally scolding herself for thinking that she could ever be the only reason the prince of a kingdom would do something.  
"How can you even assume that I would be fine without seeing you too?" He spoke and before she knew it, his lips were blissfully pressed against hers again.  
\--------------------------  
a/n  
contrary to the views of a lot of writers, filler chapters in my opinion have their own precious importance. I don't know if it is a thing with others but I mainly build up the emotion I want to highlight in the story through these very chapters.  
With that being said, this is the last filler chapter for a bit. Expect a storm soon :P  
Smriti.


	24. choice

"Your Grace, the ships we saw a few days earlier are nowhere in sight now. They just disappeared into thin air!" The Prime Minister exclaimed, his hands clasped tightly together as he broke the news to the king.  
"How can massive ships just disappear, Hawklin?" Another minister piped up but when he got a stern look from the royalty, he stayed shut.  
"Did you see them turn to another route?" The King asked, getting up from his throne and descending the steps.  
"No, Your Grace. There was just the usual morning mist today and after that, they could not be seen anywhere."  
The King's heart picked up pace. He had seen this before and known it all too well. At that time he had been young and passionate and in the most powerful alliances one could imagine, but now things were different. He was neither so young nor did he have any part in those alliances anymore.  
Timothee was a skilled warrior and had been in a few battles before, winning almost every single one he had ever fought, but this enemy was a force to shudder from. He did have confidence in his son but he had fought this particular battle before and he knew just how much it was going to take from him. He just did not know if Timothee was ready for something so big yet.  
He had known it was late Elliot's host deep in his heart the moment he heard of ships from Hawklin. Elliot had been a king of the seas and the world had known his undefeated fleet until King Chalamet had conquered it and Elmcaster with it.  
He knew he should have killed his queen and her child the day he had beheaded Elliot. He had never wanted to go back in time more.  
"Hawklin. Prepare for battle. It won't be long till they land on our shores. And summon all my guests- the kings, immediately."  
\----------------------------------------------------  
"I thank all of you for answering my call so late at night. I would not have troubled any of Your Majesties had the matter at hand not been such a grave one." The King announced as soon as all the rulers of the neighbouring lands were seated and warm.  
"As you have all been witnesses to some unfortunate breaches in our security in the past few days- unexpected attacks and destruction of castle property, I would like to assume the liberty to let you know who was behind it all."  
The King paused and his audience looked expectantly at him. He saw wine glasses being clutched tighter and doublets being drawn closer.  
"Who was it?" A king prompted.  
"Late Elliot's host. His wife leads it. I know it because only Elliot knew how to mask his ships in the mists and some god-forsaken short routes to every island that no one else has ever found out about. We are expecting them in Elmcaster any time. This is a war call and I need you to fight with me." The King let out, preparing himself for the worst part.  
"You know Brookwood shall always fight with you, without a doubt." Prince Ansel confirmed from one of the seats, his father seconding his claim.  
The King smiled, hoping the rest were as easy to come to his aid.  
"What compensation do you promise?" A king asked.  
"You're supposed to be a king with an army not a sell sword but name your price anyway- gold, trade discounts?"  
"A billion coins in gold and the northern vineyards of Elmcaster."  
"If I go around giving that much to every person who helps me, I might not even have a kingdom to fight for by the time the enemy arrives." King Chalamet spat.  
"Then forgive me, Your Grace. Elliot's army used to be formidable and I am not willing to take the risk of expecting any less of them now. Brookwood helps you and not I because your daughter marries into their kingdom, not mine. I won't risk a single man from my kingdom if I can't secure the interest of my lands." The king said and got up. A few other kings got up with him and they all strode out of the court.  
King Chalamet felt his throat constrict. He had to come up with an appealing price or he would not have any allies to fall back upon. He could not lose Elmcaster, not when his son was about to be the monarch.  
"I can promise gold in millions to those present here, free passage in Elmcaster waters and a life-long war alliance." He breathed out finally.  
"I can lend you three quarters of my army for that and my son commands it." The King of Manisland declared and King Chalamet gratefully accepted his help. It was better to have something rather than nothing.  
By the end of the night and after a zillion negotiations, the rulers of six lands agreed to lend Elmcaster tits and bits of their armies and all King Chalamet could do was wordlessly accept it.  
Helplessness sure was one of the most killing emotions.  
He had gotten more men at his disposal now but they still were not enough. As the remaining kings left, the King sat down on his throne, silently praying for some miracles. Elmcaster deserved it.  
When he finally looked up, he saw the pirate king Edmund still seated on one of the high chairs, smoking a pipe per usual.  
"Edmund?"  
"Marc." The man replied in his croaky voice.  
"Do you need something?"  
"No but you do. It is going to be a battle in the waters, like all those years ago."  
King Marc shuddered at the bloody remembrance and just hummed his agreement. The only strategic way to win Elmcaster was to land on its shores after winning over the battleships and harsh waters. Once a man touched the grounds, there was really not much that could be done to stop him from invading the island. The water was its primary defense and the fleet its area of military expertise.  
"And who fights the best at sea?" Edmund prompted.  
"Pirates. Are you trying to throw in my face just how much of a pathetic position I am in?"  
"No. I am trying to throw in your face the fact that the only way you can save Elmcaster now with that little amount of men is by making an alliance with me."  
The King sighed and grabbed a goblet of wine from one of the serving girls.  
"I don't have much to pay you. I've promised a lot of my wealth away to others."  
"Oh you have a lot you can pay me with." Edmund said, a lazy smile spreading across his sharp, scarred face.  
"Be blunt."  
"You must have heard about my daughter-"  
"Lily."  
"I see you remember." The pirate king said and getting up from his place, walked to the King.  
"I do. What about her?"  
"Timothee is a man grown now and soon would be sitting on the throne you hold. He is going to need a queen. I will send every single man of my army to fight for you, all our finest ships and weapons and flame-throwers, just for you- only if you marry Timothee to Lily."  
"But isn't she in love with that stable boy?" King Chalamet inquired.  
"That is another fly I am trying to catch. If she marries your handsome, able son, she will realise she had been loving the wrong man all this time. He is a low-born, she is a princess and there is no way I will let them marry."  
"Send in every ounce of power from your end and as soon as the battle is over, I will welcome Lily as Timothee's bride." King Chalamet promised after a long, hard silence and Edmund pulled him up to embrace him.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
a/n  
aaaaaaand, the drama begins.


	25. tarts

"Where were you?" Pauline asked as soon as Timothee sat at the table, his dinner steaming in front of him.  
"Out in the woods for a bit, why?"  
"Father had been looking for you everywhere. What did you do now?"  
"I don't know. Breathe?" Timothee replied nonchalantly while taking a bite of his mushrooms.  
Dinner was slow and the king did not make an appearance. Timothee smiled at the people who greeted them and participated in casual conversation at the table.  
He knew he had to go meet his father at some point during the night and he could not fathom why he was being searched for. He got up and politely taking everyone's leave, he made his way toward his parents' chamber.  
"There he is!" The queen exclaimed as soon as he entered.  
He saw his mother had been pacing while his father sat on the diwan, turning his dagger between his firm, course fingers. His feet staggered a bit as he was taken aback by his mother suddenly wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him close.  
"I wish we could give you this news in better times but it seems the fate of it was not so shiny." She said.  
"What news?"  
"Sit by me, Tim." His father spoke and softly detaching himself from his mother, he complied.  
His father had not called him 'Tim' in a long while. He used to do it whenever Timothee had thrown a dagger correctly or shot a target down with his arrow or when he helped his sister. The name had dissolved into the past like his childhood.  
As the King explained to him the entire ordeal with the enemy fleet disappearing and how it was Elliot's queen who led the host, Timothee could not help but feel the adrenaline build in his system.  
He absolutely did not condone wars but when it really came to hands-on battle, getting the opportunity to assert his physical strength did things to him. Two entities had always been about power for him- battle and sex.  
A chill ran down his spine as his father told him that they could be expecting the enemy in a few days. The strategic positions he would like to take charge of were already on the tip of his tongue but he never voiced it.  
"And now we come to the part without which, we simply cannot expect to win." The King began.  
"It has been no secret to you that we have been short of men and the other rulers have not been so kind in extending their help. I have had to pay a lot for just a handful more men but King Edmund has been generous enough to lend us all his army and resources. They are pirates and know the sea well, with their aid, we can certainly stop the enemy from touching the land."  
"That sounds perfect, we need to thank him graciously for that." Timothee replied.  
"We need to pay him graciously for that. To put it better, you need to pay him for it."  
"I don't get you, father."  
"You are to marry his daughter as soon as the battle is over. She shall be the queen of Elmcaster when you ascend the throne." The King declared.  
Suddenly the room felt a lot colder to Timothee and he had never felt his heart drop faster. Just a few hours ago, he had been kissing Saoirse, hoping that when he is King, he could do something about them. If only he had stayed in the meadow with her and never returned...  
He could have been trampled by a million horses and it would not have hurt half as bad. He could have been okay with grieving alone but there was no way that Saoirse would not crumble to dust in pain when she got to know of it.  
His nails dug in his palm painfully at the prospect of bringing anything but sheer happiness to the woman who had risked her life for him twice and would do it again, without the hesitation of a breath at any time of the day. Before tears could visibly pool in his eyes, he turned his back on his parents.  
"We can't really win without his host, can we?" Timothee asked softly, hoping they did not hear his voice break.  
"No, son. Do you not want to marry Lily?" The King answered.  
"Do I have a choice?"  
The question was rhetorical, everyone in the room knew that, and before his grief could have the best of him, he stormed out of their chamber.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
a/n  
I have just not known how to write this scene, to be honest. I have never had a clue about how to properly break bad news to people in real life, let alone while writing a book where almost every other thing is a projection of the writer's thoughts. I try to keep my personality out of the text as much as possible though, to the point that sometimes I do not recognise the words I have penned down are my own xd.  
do not forget to vote and comment if you liked the chapter! love you x  
Smriti.


	26. no fears

Saoirse watched as the rust coloured leaves fell all around the trees, making it known that sweet summer days were to be gone. Strange, was it not? How slowly yet all of a sudden, green could turn to hues of red and gold and brown, the moisture could turn into stabbing needles of crisp chill, summer to autumn to winter and elation to longing.  
It had been a few days since either Timothee or Pauline had visited the Tower. She had never expected them to stick to the idea of visiting her daily but it had been wonderful while it lasted. All day with clothes softer than an infant's skin, she cleaned the marble effigies of the gods, dusted the seats in the Hall and knitted mittens for little children that sometimes came to the Tower.  
Every day that passed without hearing from Timothee or seeing him, her heart felt heavy as lead. There were no explanations she could give herself but the same old 'they are the royalty and their time is more precious than anything you might ever own'.  
She knew that her luck had already outdone itself considering everything that happened between her and the prince, the friendship that she had with the princess and the confidence she had enjoyed in the royal household, but love was nothing if not a constant nagging greed for the people that made your heart feel at home.  
The room she had here was only just a little wooden cabin, smaller than what she had in the castle. When Saoirse had moved in, she had had to clean it harder than she had ever cleaned anything, what with wood decaying in some places and the cabin not having been opened in years, but now it was a cosy, little place.  
A sudden knock at her foggy window made her jump with a start and she opened it just a little bit to see the tiny face of Rob, the little boy of one of the nursemaids in the Tower.  
"What are you doing out there?" Saoirse asked him as he visibly shivered and sniffed.  
She opened the window wider and let the boy in before wrapping his little frame in one of her warmest shawls.  
"Pay me in tarts for what I will tell you. Please?" He asked, his innocent eyes shining.  
"I will make you tarts but not many. You don't want your mum to scream at you again."  
"I don't like her. She never gives me tarts. She always screams."  
Saoirse lovingly ran a hand through his hair at that and he snuggled closer to her.  
"It's better than not having a mum at all, isn't it?" She said, the face of her own mother flashing in the back of her mind.  
"I had never thought about that." Rob whispered, his pale, little face settling into that grim expression of realisation the way only a child's can.  
"What did you want to tell me?"  
"I saw horses. I know you get happy whenever horses come from the castle."  
Saoirse smiled and tried her best not to jump up right at that moment. Little did the poor child know that it was not the horses but the people they carried that made her happy.  
"I'll come back to you. Don't go out in the cold again, alright?" Saoirse said and as she got up, the child held on to her sleeve, profound fear mixed in his grey orbs.  
"Don't tell mum that I went out. She will hurt me."  
"I won't. I'll bring your tarts."  
The child squealed in delight at that and kissed her hand before she left.  
\--------------------------------  
When the said horses arrived at the Tower's threshold, Saoirse scanned the little crowd for the two people she was hoping to see but a sinking feeling settled in her gut when she found them to be absent. It was just some gaudy minister who had come to deliver some things from the castle that the High Priest had asked for.  
She patiently stood by the tall pillars as she watched the serving boys carry everything to the storehouse.  
"Before I go sir, I must let you know that the King demands your presence sometime this week. Some pre-nuptial rituals are in due." The minister said, a huge smiling making its way across his face.  
"For Princess Pauline, I presume." The Priest guessed.  
"Oh no no, I am afraid it's not for her just yet but her brother, the prince."  
"Timothee? But the King plans to wait for the marriage till his coronation, does he not?"  
The minister looked around and then slowly leaning in toward the priest whispered, "We are warring sir. When it is over, Elmcaster shall welcome a bride."  
As soon as the words left the man's mouth, Saoirse felt every single cell of hers crumble into nothingness. How could the world around go on just the same when all that you were made up of was begging to breathe and exist, but the excruciating pain, ever demanding to be felt, pushed it all down.  
She did not care who came after her or saw her dissociating into tiny unrecognizable shreds of broken romances and ugly tears and something human, but she ran. She ran faster than she ever had, out of the Tower's gates, through the meadow and up the small trail that led to the little sparkling stream, only to stop when her soles ached more than her heart.  
Hugging her knees, she sat down on the muddy bank, dipping her feet into the gentle cold water. Her teeth sank into her arm as she tried her best to hold back a scream.  
"I was stupid. I was so fucking stupid." She kept chanting till the sentences became more familiar to her than her own name.


	27. 25

He knew he had landed face first into a pool of emotional turmoil. How was he supposed to explain all of it to Saoirse? She had been nothing but kind to him, always taking care of him before herself.   
She had not even started it all.   
Sure he had known the look in her eyes whenever they met his. He had always known where he stood when it came to her, but it had been him who offered her warfare lessons, him who shamelessly admired how ferociously beautiful she looked with a sword in her hand and him who took her in his arms and kissed her first.   
She had always let him make herself his own, following him where he took her, giving every inch of her to his whims... so unlike Saoirse. But is that not what one does when infatuated - act completely out of oneself?   
After all the sweet words they had exchanged, the kisses they had shared, the silent comfort they had provided each other whenever they were together, what was he supposed to tell her that would make it all hurt less?   
He had not realised that he had been crying till he felt slim fingers wipe his tears away and cup his face.   
"I never knew you liked her that much." Pauline said, running her thumb over his sharp cheekbones.   
"You do not know a lot."   
"You can always tell me."   
Timothee sighed. Pauline had known more than anyone else about him and his silly romance with her best friend. It was time she knew the entire picture.   
"I-I've been so foolish, how could I have let her believe anything about us when I do not have the balls to stand up to mother and father, and fight for what I really want?" He whispered and before he knew it, a fresh stream of tears ran down his face.   
Pauline wrapped her arms around her brother and kissed his hair in comfort as she let him cry into her collar.   
"You did it for Elmcaster, Timothee. If there was no war, I'm sure you would have let them know that you do not want Lily." She reassured.   
"What about her? She does not deserve this one bit."   
"I know. I should have stopped both of you before it ever happened."   
Timothee squeezed her hand. Little did his sister know that even if she had tried, she could not have stopped it all. He had always been fascinated by her. When they were children, he had always admired how deftly she arranged all the toys and how she always knew the right things to say.  
When they hit adolescence, he began looking at her in ways he should never have, so he stopped spending time with Saoirse and Pauline.   
He started fooling around with other ladies and princesses as years went by, but whenever he saw a certain maid who was always with his sister, he could never stop wondering what it would be like to take her to Balls, to dance with her and be the reason she blushed.   
It had always been easy for him to talk to women, to woo them and make sure they thought about nothing but his charismatic self but Saoirse made his wits freeze. It was so hard to even look her in the eyes but lord when he did, he couldn't look away.   
This time when he had finally decided to let go of all shame and butterflies, and taken concrete steps to pursue the woman he had always wanted to, the stars had to misalign and fuck it all up for them.   
Were the gods happy now?   
"Do you think she knows about the betrothal?" He asked so softly he wasn't sure if his sister had heard.   
"It has not exactly been a secret to anyone since father agreed to the proposal. The pirate king has been sending out knights into the city to announce the news."   
"But the Tower is farther from the city."   
"I don't know, Tim. Does it really matter? The marriage can't be stopped so she will get to know at some point."   
They sat in silence after that, the owls hooting their nightly hymns outside.   
Timothee had never wanted to be any other creature but human more. His sister abruptly withdrew her arms from around him when Prince Ansel appeared at his threshold.   
His likeness was hidden by the thin translucent curtain, but it was impossible to not recognise the shadow of his tall frame and longsword tucked at his belt.  
"Come in," Timothee spoke before the other prince had the chance to ask his permission.   
"You should sleep Tim, you're going to meet your bride to-be tomorrow." Ansel said.  
"Why did I not know this?" Timothee replied.   
"Because you were not listening to father at supper?" Pauline said and Timothee put his face in his hands, his head pounding like new year bells.   
"I just came to take the lovely princess away, she shouldn't have to walk alone in the dark." Ansel spoke and Timothee watched as his sister accepted the prince's hand and got up.   
He pulled her in for a chaste kiss before they bid him a good night and walked out of his chamber.   
He guessed it just was not his fate to walk the woman he loved to her bed at night like Ansel got to do. It wasn't written for him to kiss her anymore and heavens knew how much he would give just to hold her in his arms a last time before they really had to part.   
For the first time in his life, he was going into battle with no fears at all. Who did he have to return home to?   
\------------------------------  
a/n: poor timo, it breaks my heart to even think of him ever being so sad. This was a hard chapter to write but I'm glad it is out there now. Also, I cannot stop watching Timmy on SNL oh godddddd. My favourite skit was when he dressed up as Harry Styles and I nearly died when he *winked*. And bless the person who put the YEET song on Spotify haha, it's such a jam! What was your favourite sequence of his SNL?   
If you haven't watched it yet, what the fuck are you doing with your life? Put everything aside and go stream that. Shoo.   
love and warm hugs,   
Smriti x


	28. 26

For the first time in a long while, Timothee did not get out of bed with the rising sun. He did not go to the early fencing practices. He did not kiss his mother a good morning. He did not touch Pauline's neck with cold fingers to annoyingly wake her up.  
Instead he lay in bed, thinking of the bony yet soft hands he had loved holding, the bright sapphire eyes that he could not help but be mesmerised by and the wavy locks that fell about her face so prettily.   
She seemed like a sweet, long dream now, someone so good that they could only be imagined.   
"Timmy?" He heard his mother come in but did not make an attempt to sit up.   
The ceiling was more fascinating than his life at the moment which he did not wish to return to.   
"Are you sick?"  
She was sitting on his bed now, her long fingers coursing through his hair. He had inherited his intense eyes from his mum that everyone seemed to love so much. He did not find the intensity so lovely now that he was being stared at, when he so wanted to hide and never see the sun again.   
He did not speak. What could he say? The only word it seemed he was capable of uttering at the moment was her name. He turned away from her and buried his face in his pillow.  
"Speak to me, sweetling. Should I send for some potion?" She said, her hand clutching at his arm now.  
"Do I really have to meet that girl?"   
"Yes, do you not want to?"   
"I don't." Timothee said with such finality in his voice that the Queen withdrew her hand.   
"You know as well as I, that they'd sooner send her in your chamber even if you do not get out of bed, than have you not meet her at all."   
Timothee sighed. He had known that there was no way that he was escaping this, but his mother had just put a painful stamp on it. He lost all sense of time as he got out of bed and his mother put a few serving boys, along with his squire Emm, to bathing and dressing him.   
On another day he would have been pleased by the beautiful cloak his mother had picked out for him and the slim, silver chain with a little blue diamond for a pendant. Today, he was not. The metal was cold against his skin but he would rather feel the chill than nothing at all.   
They brushed out his hair as he blankly stared at his reflection in the mirror. Saoirse had never shied away from telling him how much she loved his curls and for a second, he thought it was her putting the dark locks in place and not a serving boy.   
He came to his senses though, but his heart beat did not slow down. Every inch of him screamed to go back to the Tower, to hold her in his arms and kiss her senseless.   
And to never leave her side.   
Soon enough, he was walking toward the great room at the back of the castle, away from all the hustle and bustle, where the princess was supposed to be. His feet seemed to be moving of their own accord, as though he had no voluntary control over them and his squire struggled to keep his long cloak from catching more filth than it should.   
His mother had meant to walk with him to the room but he knew that would compel him to make conversation with her, so he walked faster, putting as much distance between her and him as he could. She seemed to understand and did not try to either catch up with him or talk.   
The guards outside the chamber opened its double doors as soon as they saw him turning the corner of the corridor. It was going to be a long day, he could feel it in his bones.   
As soon as he entered the room, its high ceilings alight with chandeliers and rosy silk curtains draping every window, those present in it rose to their feet.   
Lily sat in the midst of them all in a flowing turquoise gown, her eyes to the ground but a strange confidence in the way her slim shoulders were set. He saw why they praised her beauty across kingdoms, what with her high cheekbones, full lips and creamy skin, who wouldn't?   
But to him, no other face was more beautiful than the one he had stared at while Saoirse concentrated on throwing darts, or when she talked about the stars, or when her face glowed after a heavy session at swordplay...   
He distantly heard his father say something along the lines of, 'We'll leave you to talk,' before everyone left the chamber and it was just them.   
"Are you just going to stand there?" She spoke and Timothee realised that he had been frozen in his spot speechlessly, his face set in a hard line.   
He moved to take a seat in front her, focusing his gaze on the navy blue carpet covering the entirety of the floor. He had no idea what to say or do next and he hoped that she gave up on trying to talk to him soon enough and told her parents that she did not want to marry this mute man.   
"They say we are getting married because of military requirements. It doesn't have to be that way."   
"What do you mean?" Timothee asked, still not looking up.   
"I'm in love with someone else." She admitted.   
Timothee was almost jealous of how easily she put it across the table, as if stating something as universally true as the sun rising in the east.   
'Me too', Timothee wanted to say but did not. He was not sure of just how much he could tell her.   
"I know, your notorious stable boy is pretty well known." He let out and watched as Lily's cheeks turned a light pink, but she did not lose her composure.   
"If my little birds are correct, your heart is taken too." She replied cautiously and Timothee's head snapped up at that.   
His breathing got heavier as he wondered how in the world she knew anything about him and Saoirse.   
He had always heard from merchants that pirate spies were unimaginably sharp and precise. He got a show now. No one could have been more careful about going through with the rendezvous with Saoirse as he had.   
"You speak a word of it outside this chamber and my sword would find your tongue." He threatened through gritted teeth.   
Lily got up at that and walked over to him. She leaned down till they were only inches apart, her eyes never leaving his.   
"I have a proposition, your sword can have my tongue after it." She whispered.   
"Go on."  
"To the world, we could be married and in love, but who cares what happens behind the doors? After we wed, if you allow me to be with Adam, your serving girl can warm your bed for all I care. Have a son with her, name him king after you, I really just want to be with the man that I have fallen for."   
Timothee had to laugh at that. Was this girl under a spell to talk so stupidly?   
"I think you have had too much wine, my lady." Timothee suggested.   
"I'm serious." She huffed out.   
"How can you even assume that our respective partners would be alright with this arrangement? Living like a filthy secret in the dark."   
"Adam is. Saoirse would be too, if she loves you enough."   
Timothee had had enough of this conversation for the day and so he got up, and left without contributing another word to her senseless proposition.


	29. 27

It had been a full day and more and Saoirse had not eaten anything. She knew she ought not to do it, but what could you do when you were too full of grief to make place for anything else?  
The Tower staff had been ignoring her like they usually did, but she could still feel their curious eyes on her sometimes. Little Rob and other children had tried to make her smile numerous times and she appreciated their honest, innocent efforts, but how did you come out from something like this with ease?   
Her mother would have known what to do like she always did. She needed someone, anyone, to tell her that what the minister said was false. She needed Pauline but she could not just call upon a princess, could she?   
She still carried his dagger around, its weight heavy in her pocket, making itself known. At the stream, she had been tempted to toss it into the river, to cut off every link she had ever shared with him, to erase his touch from her body and to utterly forget that the past few days had existed. But she could not do it. Timothee Chalamet was not somebody you forgot easily.   
What had she expected? That a prince would ever make room for a commoner like her? She had let herself be stupid and believe in words that he probably never even meant.   
As she carried a jar of warm milk from the kitchens to the chamber of the High Priest, she willed herself not to cry. Nobody liked a weeping, desolate person around them, especially when the entire kingdom was indulging in joyous feasts and celebrations on account of their beloved prince's betrothal.   
She looked out a window set in the stone walls of the corridor to see the Flag of Honour fluttering beside the one of Elmcaster. It had not been there till yesterday and that only meant one thing.   
He was going to be crowned the King tomorrow and officially announce his betrothal and kiss his to-be bride and she would just watch, like she always had.   
\----------------------------------------------------------------  
As Timothee walked the decks of their biggest fireship Andromeda, he checked with the mariners and soldiers for the status quo of all the combustibles the vessel held. The war commander had done an excellent job of positioning the ships in all the right places around and about the isle.   
The underwater portcullis was ready to let loose a stream of hungry piranhas on anyone who tried to swim ashore and cannons lined the perimeter of their lands.   
Every single tree housed archers and a sheet of spiky pears had been buried in the earth with only their points looking up for miles and miles.   
The enemy must not touch the ground.   
The pirate ships patrolled the waters with Elmaster's own, each laden with men and explosives to the brim. Slaves rowed the great ships tirelessly and skilled captains steered them about with perfection. For a moment, Timothee felt as though he might even defeat the greatest beast that walked the planet with a fleet like this.   
As he rode back to the castle after reviewing every single ship and battle arrangements on the coasts, he was tempted to make a quick detour to the Holy Tower. He desperately needed to see Saoirse but with all the knights and his guard surrounding him and strict orders of the King to return back before the sun went down, it would not be possible.   
Besides, the mummers and fire-eaters had requested to make a sight of beauty out of the royal dinner that evening and since it was in his honour, he could not be late even by the breadth of a hair.   
The next day was one that Timothee had waited for all his life. He had always known he would have the reigns of Elmcaster someday, that he would be able to serve his people and make the kingdom prosper. But he felt a strange hollowness in his chest, not the excitement that he had expected.   
He wondered if Saoirse would come. She had always been more enthusiastic about him being King than anyone else.   
He wondered if she knew.   
\-----------  
a/n (important, so please read) :   
This book, for the next few chapters is going to be a slightly violent affair as the battle proceeds. Of course, the story continues but it would be weaved in some blood and sacrifice and all the terrible yet *heroic* things war holds. If you are someone who does not prefer reading that sort of prose, I'm afraid you'll have to skip a few paragraphs every time you read my updates now lol, but I promise it won't get too ugly.   
It is hard to write medieval aged stories without these things and if I delete it, the essence of the time I'm trying to set the story in would be dulled.   
Hope you're enjoying what you've read so far!   
Keep the votes and comments coming :P   
Love,   
Smriti x


	30. 28

Where was the elation he had hoped to feel? The jitters and the tingles? Where was all of that?   
It was not everyday that one ascended to the throne of a magnanimous kingdom, he ought to be feeling euphoric. He wasn't.   
As he stood in the middle of his chamber, wearing nothing but white breeches, he stared at his reflection. His emerald eyes had never been more emotionless, more empty and seeming in desperate need to feel something, anything.   
Once again his mind played tricks with him, like it had been for the past few days and for the flash of a second, he felt he saw Saoirse coming out from behind him in the mirror, her eyes full of awe and pride. Just for him.   
He knew he did not deserve it. He had broken her heart and there were no excuses he could make. He blinked and she was gone, like always.   
"Just put on a random cloak Timmy, the ceremonial holy bath requires you naked anyway." The Queen said from behind him, extending a brown cloak his way.   
When he did not make a move to reach for it, his mother gently draped it around his shoulders, and fastened the ties in the front.   
"You're unhappy." She declared.   
"Damn, you noticed."   
"Of course I did. I'm your mother, I care about you."   
"Sure." He huffed out and fastened a dagger to his belt.   
His mother was taken aback by the chill, dead voice he had assumed. She cautiously took his hand in hers and rubbed his knuckles as though testing the waters.   
"What is it? Do you not want to be King?" She almost cooed.  
Timothee looked her in the eye, contemplating if he should tell her. What harm could it do now anyway? Saoirse was safely away from him and his marriage had been settled.   
"I don't want to marry Lily." He breathed out, his voice just a little more than a whisper.   
"Is there another princess you like? Maybe after the war we can settle somethings. There have been multiple occasions in our lineage when a king has taken more than one wife, you can do the same if Lily agrees."   
"She is not a princess."   
Timothee felt his mother take her hand out of his at that. He knew it would never be a welcome idea to her, or to the King, or to the people of his kingdom.  
"Does she return your feelings?" The Queen asked.  
"She does."   
"Tell me about her."   
He was surprised that his mother wanted to hear more of the matter. He searched her face for any signs of malicious intents behind getting such talk out of him, but her face gave nothing away.   
"She used to be a serving girl in the castle. I have never loved the way someone thinks and talks and exists more, mum. For the first time, I think I'm not plainly infatuated. It is so much more than that."   
"Give me the name, Tim." She demanded.   
"You'll have her executed, won't you?" He said, horror creeping up on his features as he stared at his mum.   
"I have better things to do than have serving girls executed. I need a name so I can talk to your father about it." She said, giving him a small smile.   
"You will?" He asked, in a disbelieving tone. Hope coursed through his veins for the first time in eons as pulled his mother into his chest, wrapping strong arms around her.   
"Why not? Did you really think a pirate princess or bloodshed or even a kingdom matters more to me than my family? I might be a queen but I'm a mother too. The gods will never forgive me if I overlook that duty."   
"I don't think father would have the same notions as you." He spoke, detaching himself from her.   
"Wait till you see the power a woman has over a man wrapped around her finger. You underestimate my kind."   
"Saoirse." Timothee replied, smiling for the first time in days and let his mother put his cloak in place for him.   
\-----------  
As he walked to the middle of the ceremonial amphitheatre, where all the kings before him had been crowned, his palms turned up to the sky and two of his kingsguard at his heels, while the entire population of Elmcaster watched, Timothee felt in his element.   
The High Priest from the Holy Tower and his father waited for him at the end of the long, white carpet and the royal guests rose in his honour in their pavilions.   
This was really happening.  
The sky was overcast and the autumn air was bone-chilling and crisp, but his sparse clothes suddenly felt enough to him.   
The priest put his hand on top of Timothee's head in blessing, while chanting under his breath. They made him sit upon a stool of gold, as the Priest handed his father a pail of water from the holy lake.   
As the King slowly poured the water on Timothee's lean body, his muscles tensed from how cold it was and he stifled back a hiss. The priest's chanting grew louder and when the pail was empty, his father kissed his forehead.   
Serving girls brought soft towels and wiped Timothee's body dry and he stood up. The holy chrism was brought forth and his father dipped his fingers in it, before rubbing it over Timothee's skin in slow, calculated moves.   
The Priest came forward and taking off the King's crown, held it up to the spectators and to the sky, his chants becoming more aggressive. Meanwhile, Timothee's squire brought forth the kingly cloak, made for Timothee by the finest fabric artists in all realms and handed it to his father.   
As his father draped the elaborate velvet red cloak, trimmed with the softest white fur, around his shoulders, the crowd erupted in a string of cheers and applause.   
Timothee looked up to see his father smiling, his eyes tearing up in pride. That expression would have once meant everything to him, but that time was long gone. He had come to realise the hefty price he was paying for being where he was at the moment and he could not decide if this was really worth it all. Maybe it was. It ought to be.   
His father had stepped back now and the Priest advanced toward him, the crown studded with every priceless jewel one could think of, held securely in his old, wrinkled hands.   
"All hail King Timothee!" The old man's voice boomed through the amphitheater as he placed the crown on Timothee's brow.   
"King Timothee! King Timothee! King Timothee!" The crowd cheered and his heart beat faster than it ever had.   
The crown felt heavier than anything he had ever had to wear on his head and he was sure he would never wear anything heavier. Its metal was cold on his skin and did not help the chill that ran down his spine.   
The adrenaline in his blood had never coursed faster and as the Priest handed him the Sword of The Realm, he turned around to face his people, not just as Prince Timothee anymore, but their rightful King.   
King Timothee.   
\-------------------------------  
a/n:   
I was so excited to write the coronation scene! I hope you guys liked it!   
Smriti x


	31. 29

This is what having the world at one's feet must feel like. The thunderous applause from the public was all he could hear for a while till it rang through the air- the sound of the war horn.   
The soldiers from the first post of the castle blew the horn loud and clear and the applause faded away under its raucous blaring. Claps turned into screams and it only meant one thing- the enemy was here.   
"Usher the women and children into the castle basements!" Timothee commanded the officials around him and the men got to work as the weakest lot were swiftly escorted to safety.   
He handed Emm his crown and cloak to keep in his chamber and rushed to the armory to get dressed in chain, mail and armor. His destrier was neighing softly as a serving boy brought the huge, rugged animal, unable to control its direction. Pegasus had always listened to no one but him and proving thus, the horse quieted as soon as Timothee mounted it.   
"They're still at the sea, Your Grace. Our fleet is doing its best to hold them off." The commander spoke when Timothee rode out into the practice grounds where a portion of his archers, ready to go up to the battlements in the castle stood.   
Your Grace. He was going to have to get used to hearing it no matter how strange it sounded now. He had been King for mere minutes and he was already having to fight a battle. Battles did not scare him, the aftermath did.   
"Has my note of peace been sent to the other party's lead? I would always wish to fight one-on-one if they agree, before I let the men of my kingdom spill their blood."   
"We have just dispatched a boat with your messenger. He should reach there in a couple of hours." The commander replied.   
"Have all the Towers around the island been secured? The Holy Tower?"   
'Saoirse? Is she safe?' was what he had wanted to ask but he knew he must not.   
"Troops have been sent there, Your Grace. The whole island will be doubly secured within an hour."   
When his father walked into the ground, his armor and plate in place, Timothee realised for the first time just how old he had really grown. His once spotless dark hair were now tangled with grey and the wrinkles on his skin were apparent when he lifted his helm and visor.   
"Are you sure you want to fight?" Timothee asked.   
"Why not?"  
"As long as I stand ground, you shouldn't have to."   
"As long as I have a wife and children to fight for, I should." His father replied, smiling weakly at him and together they led the garrison out of the grounds.   
In the hours that they waited for the messenger to return, Timothee made sure everything was in place in case their fleet got defeated and the enemy infiltrated the land. There was no way he was going to risk Elmcaster and its people.   
"I need to get to the King right now!" He heard a woman yelling from outside the chamber him and his ministers were currently in, planning out the course of their movements through the battle.   
"Tell the guards to let her in." He told Hawklin and soon enough, a middle aged, plump woman, dressed in faded light wool stumbled in, her forehead bleeding.   
"Your Grace... I..." She panted but her throat was so dry from all the running that she threw up a cough fit.   
Timothee signalled the serving girls in the room to fetch her some water and when she had stabilised, he registered the utter horror on her face.   
"They're here. They're coming in boats and they're plundering the villages! I rode here as soon as I saw them." She managed to let out, tears freely flowing down her cheeks.   
"Which end are you coming from?" The commander asked.   
"The South-East."   
"Your Grace we have fewer defence lines on that end." The commander spoke.   
"And why the fuck is that?" Timothee demanded, fury boiling inside his gut.   
"We... We thought they wouldn't try to invade that part because of the jungles."   
Timothee wanted to fling him off of a balcony for saying that. How could these heavily experienced men be so stupid?   
"Just because they're jungles doesn't mean they can't be crossed." Ansel said through gritted teeth and Timothee was glad he had spoken his mind but in gentler words.   
"Get Pegasus out, I'm riding there with a hundred men." Timothee announced and before he could storm out of the chamber, the messenger they had sent made an appearance.   
"What did they say?" Hawklin demanded.   
The messenger lifted up his arm and Timothee clenched his teeth when he saw that the messenger's hand from the wrist up had been cut off.  
If they wanted war, Timothee was going to make it certain that this was the last any of them ever fought.   
\-----------  
a/n:   
*stop the fucking charade!*   
lol, how do you like intimidating Timmy?   
for me? sexy as fuck.


	32. 30

Ansel had followed him to the South-west even though Timothee wanted him to be in the castle to look after things.   
As soon as he neared the area, he could see the fires burning and upon getting closer he could hear their shrieks. People were fleeing all around and they had sped their horses like never before to reach to their rescue.   
Enemy men poured from all directions, coming from the thick of the forests and the little coastline, their wooden carcasses floating lazily in the water once they abandoned it. Timothee's men fired arrows in their direction, taking down tens of them in one launch.   
"CHARGE!" Timothee commanded as soon as they were close enough to the attack site.   
Timothee's destrier trampled down a man beneath his heavy feet as he sliced off the neck of another. Ansel tore through the lines of the enemy, his sword swinging expertly and spilling a trail of blood behind him.   
His garrison did their best at taking down as many men as they could before they actually reached the mounted soldiers. There was blood and shrieking all around and Timothee felt alive. His heart raced and the rush of blood made his cheeks glow red as he killed enemy after enemy.   
Within minutes, he could see that they had cleared a good number of them and the others were beginning to retreat the way they had come. Timothee was not going to let them escape that easily though and he instructed a knight to go after the escaping men and made sure none of them reached back to their lords.   
Thankfully he had not lost on a lot of men in this small battle. At least eighty out of the hundred he had brought were returning home with him. This incident told him enough about the foe though. If this was how the entirety of their host was, then they were not seasoned warriors that came to attack Elmcaster.   
They might be greater than Timothee's host in number but they did not match the skill his soldiers had. Discipline always prevailed over numbers in combat, he had learned as much in his little life strewn with swords and blood.   
He left a few soldiers behind to tend to the damages the enemy had caused to the area's inhabitants and to escort the wounded to doctors and nursemaids.   
"I had expected them to be better than that." Ansel spoke, pulling his horse up beside Timothee.   
"Me too. Do you think all their host is like this?"   
"We must not underestimate them. Maybe they sent the poorest part of their army to this flank, knowing we wouldn't have enough defences in this part."  
"You're right." Timothee sighed and they sped their horses up to reach back to the castle as soon as they could.   
\-----------------  
"Saoirse?" Little Rob called her, pulling at her sleeve as she warmed milk for one of the clergywomen.   
"Hmm?"  
"I am scared. They say the enemy has come." The small boy said, his voice breaking in the end.   
She covered the pot at that and lifted the child in her arms, kissing his forehead after smoothing out his hair.   
"There are so many brave people out there fighting for us, I'm sure we will be fine." She reassured him.   
"You think so?"  
"I know so. Besides, if the worst comes to the worst, I know how to use a blade pretty well myself, I'll protect you." She said and gave him a smile.   
"I saw the prince teaching you how to do it. He is fighting out there too, isn't he?" Rob asked with the sweet innocence only a child could muster in their voice and Saoirse's heart gave a painful lurch.   
It had been hard for her to accept the fact that Timothee was not hers anymore, rather, he never was. It had all just been an illusion- a beautiful one but an illusion nonetheless and no matter how much she wanted closure in this situation, she knew she could not get it.   
"Yes he is. Why don't you go give Mother Malda this milk?" She said, putting the pot off the fire before pouring its contents in a glass and placing it in a tray for Rob to carry.   
Her hand instinctively went inside her pocket to touch his dagger, like it so often did. She would have been certain that all the things that went down with Timothee were a dream had she not had this dagger to prove otherwise.   
It was proof that he had touched her and looked at her with affection in his poetic eyes. It was also proof that she had been stupid and had placed her heart on the edge of a sword, hoping to not get cut when that was as impossible as the sun rising at night.   
She felt the cold metal press almost painfully against her skin but she did not let go of it. Her eyes watered and she bit down on her lip to keep herself from crying.   
"Please be safe." She whispered, hoping the gods would hear her.   
No matter how much he had hurt her, she still could not bear the thought of him being dead or injured.   
\-------  
a/n   
do my action scenes make sense? Let me know if they need to be refined more.   
love,   
smriti x


	33. 31

As soon as Timothee got back to the castle, word reached that three of their biggest battleships had been destroyed resulting in a loss of at least a couple thousand men and countless machinery and explosives.   
As he deliberated his next move with his Council in his chamber, he could not help but be anxious about the fate of his kingdom, if this was how their losses were going to multiply. The enemy had only lost one ship till now and it had not been a major one, just a flank ship that housed supplies.   
"The people are scared, Your Grace. Many of them approached the gates while you were gone and demanded protection inside the castle." Hawklin informed.   
"How much space do we have left in the dungeon quarters?" Timothee enquired.   
"They're thousands and we only have a few rooms left. We cannot possibly house them all."   
Timothee ran his hands through his hair. How was he ever going to tackle all of it at once? He just wished he had a bit more time or experience but he had neither. Had Saoirse been here, she would have known the right questions to probe his head and get an articulate solution out of him, but her presence was not in his stars as well.   
"Assign the rooms of the dead fleet men to those seeking protection and make sure we recover as many of their bodies as we can. They deserve a more than decent burial." Timothee commanded.   
"That will be done, Your Grace."   
\--------------------------  
The battle on the sea stretched for days after that and with every passing minute, Elmcaster grew more insecure.   
Despite having had some major victories and fending off a few more insurgencies on land, things still were not looking up for them. The pirates had not proven to be as promising a help as Timothee's father had thought and it only added on to his frustration.   
The enemy was closer to the land than ever, which was why Timothee was presently getting dressed in his chain mail and armor, trusting the intelligence he received from his spies and prepared for their arrival. They could be touching the isles any moment now and unprepared was the last thing he wanted to be.   
He had sent Ansel ahead of him with some of their troops and he was counting on Hawklin's defence preparations on the coasts to last as long as they had expected. He was determined to save his kingdom and he planned on dying a King rather than a dethroned, humiliated man.   
All their cannons were in place, ready to blast off the foes and their arrows had been coated in kerosene so their points could be lit on fire when they were launched from their bowstrings. Gigantic elephants awaited their turn to trample down any man who so much as even looked up at the Royal Keep and Timothee had let lose vicious snakes in the bushes at the borders, ever willing to bite men who tried sneaking through or past them.   
He had done all that he could think of, constantly consulting the seasoned warriors and aged, experienced men of his kingdom and his allies. He prayed and visited the wounded and their families whenever he could. His people deserved so much better than what they were having to go through and he wanted to fight for them and provide them with a better life.   
As he rode his destrier, leading his entire host behind him, knowing this could very well be the last battle he fought, he remembered Pauline's face as she kissed his forehead in a teary farewell and his mother who wrapped him in a fierce embrace, unwilling to let him go.   
He had his father lead the defences at the castle, needing someone to guard his home while he was gone. Old men were no good in a battlefield anyway and he did not have it in him to completely ask his father to not fight. He knew the man wouldn't listen and this was the best compromise he could have achieved.   
He thought about Saoirse and her big, sapphire eyes. If he lived, he would go back to her and apologise and explain every single thing to her. He would not ask her to take him back, she deserved better than someone who deserted her after leading her on.   
He could see gigantic ships in the distance, some of their hulls burning. Men were constantly trying to get into their enemy's ships to take control of them and loot their supplies. The sun was almost down, painting the sky as crimson as all the blood that had been spilled that day.   
"Should we start firing the cannons, Tim? I think they are close enough." Ansel suggested, pulling up his horse next to Timothee's.   
"I need them a bit more close. We want to be precise." He replied.   
He had made the mistake of firing too soon, almost as soon as he saw the enemy, in a previous battle he had fought. He had exhausted his ammunition before they could finish off the strongest part of the opposing troops and a lot of the cannonballs had hit the wrong targets.   
"As you command," Ansel spoke and rode away to talk to some of the troops on his end.   
Timothee saw his commander-at-arms arrange the soldiers in strategic positions and hiding some of them in the strangest of places so as to fulfill their guerrilla tactic.   
Suddenly it was dead quiet all around and all he could hear was the sounds from the sea- the crashing of the waves, his fleet trying to keep up the last of their defences and the foe rapidly advancing toward them. Timothee gulped, knowing this was the moment and he lifted his hand to motion for the cannonballs to be fired.   
Almost as soon as he did so, he could hear the blasts from his end going off and a fresh stream of adrenaline coursed through him as he saw several of the shots fired by them hit the enemy ships, completely sinking some of the smaller ones and badly damaging the huge ones in the middle.   
He was trying to figure out which ship carried Elliot's queen, if she was even here, but every major ship seemed to look alike- huge and dark and a cacophony of raucous seamen's screams and weapons.   
All of a sudden, a ball of fire exploded to his right, not far from where he stood, scattering the soldiers there, killing only the gods knew how many. He rode away from the site and wanted nothing more than to avenge every single one of their deaths but he knew he would have to keep his calm. His host derived strength from him and if he lost composure, their case was lost.   
He could see the majority of his fleet drowning before his eyes along with the pirate ships. They parted the way for the warships of Elliot's queen as the sea parted for Moses and when the first of men touched the ground of Elmcaster, their soles were pierced by the spearheads Timothee's men had planted in the earth, their tips showing just enough.   
Although it did slow the invaders down to some extent and caused them injury, it still was not enough to completely put them on hold.   
Timothee ordered his archers to release their arrows and as a swarm of them fell down upon the foes, he saw that an unimaginable number of them started landing on the coast and charging at every scrap of land they could find.   
He put his foot to his destrier's belly and the animal ran into the battlefield as Timothee slew man after man to his left and right. When he got to the eye of the violence, out of nowhere a dozen men surrounded him and it took him more than considerable strength to keep himself from falling off of his horse as their swords all came raining down on him.   
One of them managed to slash at his bicep and he could feel hot blood gushing out of his arm as pain shot through him. Fortunately, a few of his soldiers reached the site at that instant and together they killed the attacking men.   
Timothee's eyes went wide as he saw a part of the enemy host taking the route of the little stream that ran near the Holy Tower toward the castle.   
Suddenly Ansel was at his side, swinging his battle axe to smash the head of a soldier who had been charging at Timothee from behind.   
"Go after them, I've got it here!" He yelled through his visor and helm, his armor bloodstained.   
And taking about a few hundred men of his host, Timothee rode toward the castle.  
If the enemy succeeded in securing the Royal Keep, they won, and he was never going to let that happen till he had breath.


	34. 32

Saoirse heard the commotion when the soldiers outside were being commanded to take up their positions and horses were being drawn out of the stables. They were finally here, she knew it.   
She had known all along that she would have to face the enemy men too. There was no way they were escaping it because Holy Towers in any kingdom were places of great prestige and essential to conquer.   
She waited for it to begin as she fastened her sword at her belt and drew out her shield from under her bed. She was not going to be chicken and hide behind four walls when she could be out there, fighting for her kingdom and its people.   
All of a sudden, she heard the yells of men and she could not fathom if it was the ground shaking or her legs when she realised that they were finally here. All the clergywomen and children had been transferred to the safety of the Tower dungeons and Saoirse decided to be on guard there.   
A blast resounded and the very walls of the corridor as she ran through it seemed to shake from the impact. From one of the windows, she could see a minaret of the building tilt and fall to the ground amidst a cloud of dust and smoke.   
Trees and the huts of the peasants around burned bright as the foe lit them on fire. Their own men charged at them and all around was only blood and fire and chaos and death. This is what men reduced themselves to in the end, despite having better brains. Their animalistic instinct to kill and be superior never leaves them.  
As Saoirse pushed open the double doors to the safety chamber in the dungeons, the sounds of wailing and scared children and their mothers and other clergywomen trying desperately to comfort them fell into her ears.   
"I knew you would come to save us!" Little Rob said as he ran and hugged her leg as soon as he saw her enter.   
Saoirse ruffled his hair and looked up to see his mother looking at her with moist eyes, not knowing how to tell her son that a single woman could not save them all even if she wanted to.   
"How bad is it out there?" She asked.   
"Bad enough. It is best if we do not talk about it." Saoirse replied.   
She saw no point in telling them what she had seen and terrifying them further when they could do nothing about it but pray to their cruel gods who had put them in the midst of such an agonizing time.   
"Saoirse!" She heard Nola, the eldest clergywoman call out her name from across the hall, sitting in her high seat. Although bent with age, the woman had a certain gravity to her and one could not help but pay attention to her when she demanded it. Saoirse walked to her and when she was close enough, Nola commanded her to take the empty seat beside her.   
"I have something for you to do. It's a fatal task but only you out of all the others here can do it." She spoke.  
"I'm at your command." Saoirse replied.   
Nola produced a rectangular box wrapped in black velvet cloth; its surface studded with little diamonds that reflected the light from the fires in the hearths all around.   
"This has Princess Pauline's ceremonial wedding diadem in it. The Priests of the highest order bless it before it is presented to the bride. Since we do not know when the Tower should fall, I want you to deliver this in the hands of the princess. Go as swiftly and discreetly as you can. There is mortal danger out there but this has to be done. This belongs to Pauline and she cannot get married without it."  
"It will be done." Saoirse said, taking the box from the old woman and burying it in the deep inner pockets of her cloak.   
She left the hall and sped through the dark corridors to the stables. Mounting her mare, she led it out of the Tower amidst the shouts and cries of dying men, into the thorny, marshy forests. She kept as far away from the main routes as possible to avoid getting spotted and attacked.   
Soon she could see the high towers of the Royal Keep rise in the distance and the woods grew thinner and thinner as she neared it. She made her way to the hind gates of the castle that anyone hardly used, but she found it burning in tall, orange flames and about a dozen men lay dead in front of it- rotting, bleeding, charred to death.   
As she slipped past the destruction and hubbub and into the main premises of the castle, her heart sank. All around, the soldiers of Elmcaster were struggling to keep their foes from breaking their defence line and entering the inner parts of the Keep. She drew out her sword and cut off the head of a man approaching her with his mace raised. She steered her mare to the shadows or she would be dead within minutes if she kept standing in the midst of the violence.   
As she was trying to figure out the safest way to reach Paulines chamber, while all around the defences of Elmcaster grew weaker by the second, she saw a fresh troop of numerous soldiers, all bearing the banner of her kingdom charging in, yelling Timothee's name and it was not long till she spotted the Prince himself.   
It was hard not to notice him, what with men running away from his path, knowing death was the only thing in store for them should they clash swords with him. She felt a sting in her chest upon seeing him after so long, especially after all that had happened. She had expected to feel miserable and to breakdown should she ever see him, but anger, pure seething rage was what coursed through every vein of hers.   
He had known all along that she felt differently for him, he had also known that he would never be in the position to make anything serious out of them. Despite it all, he had led her on and even convinced her that what he felt for her was something more than mere lust.   
She forced herself to do what she came there to do. Her stupid feelings were not more important than her dearest friend and kingdom at this moment. As if on cue, she found a small passage which she knew lead to the castle kitchens, unguarded and free of any men.   
She dismounted from her horse and slowly but steadily sneaked into the passage and ran to the kitchens. In a few minutes, she saw light at the end of the narrow alley and before she knew it, she was in the familiar kitchens of the castle, but what took her off guard was shouts of men coming from behind. Her heart sped up more if that was even possible, as she realized that she had been followed.


End file.
